Winter came at the manor. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. ‘I’ll take wine,’ the lady said briefly, turning back instantly to Hilary. “Then either this man shot himself or some one else shot him immediately before your arrival—or rather if it was not himself the person who did it was in the room, say two minutes, before you arrived. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. That she was provoked by his interference was obvious. “How has the world taken it?” he asked. “And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I am sorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet than hers.
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