The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. Sorry to be so nosy. The Leads 405 XXI. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. Surely she could ignore him.
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