The Wastrel did not relish this. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. She is in Wild's power. Such revelations she hoped would be considered out of place and inappropriate. 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.
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