" "And why not?" asked Kneebone, eagerly. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. After all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s complacent visage there was a past as lurid as any one’s—not, of course, her aunt’s own personal past, which was apparently just that curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past with all sorts of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy, marriage by capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no doubt, their manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still ancestresses in the direct line, must have danced through a brief and stirring life in the woady buff. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. He installed Anna in a comfortable easy chair, and placed his own between her and the door. “Why not? Isn’t the whole thing a lie? Isn’t her reputation, this husband of hers, the ‘Alcide’ business, isn’t it all a cursed juggle? She hasn’t the right to do it. When I shall go to the lawyers that have the interest of this estate Remenham, you will come with me. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad. She wanted to know. He hated horizons.
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