Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. His tongue was hot. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. ‘But you have told them that I have been disguised, no? That I have broken into Remenham House, and—’ ‘No, no, child, don’t be alarmed,’ said her great-aunt, her tone soothing. Easily. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered. “There isn’t any way you could be worse than John. “She contrives somehow to strike the personal note in an amazing manner. —'How so?' says I.
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