haven't much influence over her. It is absurd, but . . ." It seems that the old lady in the lodge made a point of carrying letters that went by hand. She had an eye for gratuities—and the police, I should say, were concerned. They make a good deal of use of that sort of person in that neighbourhood of infinitesimal and unceasing plotting.
"I didn't mean that," I said, "but the woman who calls herself my sister . . ."
"My dear nephew," she interrupted, with tranquil force, as if she were taking an arranged line, "I cannot—I absolutely cannot be worried with your quarrels with your sister. As I said to you in my note of this morning, when you are in this town you must consider this house your home. It is almost insulting of you to go to an inn. I am told it is even . . . quite an unfit place that you are stopping at—for a member of our family."
I maintained for a few seconds a silence of astonishment.
"But," I returned to the charge, "the matter is one of importance. You must understand that she . . ."
[197]
