Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. He hated himself a little for it. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead. "I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said.
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