Where the stuff came from was always a mystery. “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. Wild in his own domain. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father.
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