Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. At length, I shall ascertain my name. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. “Did you ever see women so weary-looking and so dowdy? They do not talk. If you live, well and good; if you die, well and good. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse.
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