ABSTRACT
RATHER more than an hour and a half later, Rose Otway, with bursting heart, but with dry, gleaming eyes – for she had a nervous fear of her mother’s affectionate questioning, and she had already endured Anna’s well-meant, fussy, though still unspoken sympathy – stood at the spare-room window of the Trellis House. From there she could watch, undisturbed, the signs of departure now going busily on before the big gates of the group of three Georgian houses known as ‘Robey’s.’
