If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. It was excellently done, especially as she loved good dinners. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. She liked the animated eagerness of his manner. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. Sheppard. “Concern me!” she repeated fiercely.
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