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She learned quickly, absorbing all she could as quickly as possible as her adoration grew for him. He saw that she was tense. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose. She would not be driven in by this persistent, sneaking aggression. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. She was the consummate mother, even when extremely tired, she missed nothing.
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