She traced him by his scent. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. Why in heaven’s name didn’t I think of that before?’ ‘What are you talking of?’ ‘Never mind that now. You will be my witness, Madame Joan.
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