"Number fourteen, Hastings Street," she replied.

"One more question. Since you are making these arrangements yourself, am I to assume that your husband is unaware of them?"

She bit her lip and the color in her cheeks heightened. "You are. I should be obliged if you would be as discreet as possible."

"How shall I account for my presence, if he should ask?"

"Oh." For a moment she was disconcerted. "Will it not be possible to call when he is out? He attends his business every weekday from nine in the morning until, at the earliest, half past four. He is an architect. Sometimes he is out considerably later."

"It will be, I expect, but I would prefer to have a story ready in case we are caught out. We must at least agree on our explanations."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "You make it sound so… deceitful, Mr. Monk. I have no wish to lie to Mr. Penrose. It is simply that the matter is so distressing, it would be so much pleasanter for Marianne if he did not know. She has to continue living in his house, you see?" She stared up at him suddenly with fierce intensity. "She has already suffered the attack. Her only chance of recovering her emotions, her peace of mind, and any happiness at all, will lie in putting it all behind her. How can she do that if every time she sits down at the table she knows that the man opposite her is fully aware of her shame? It would be intolerable for her!"

"But you know, Mrs. Penrose," he pointed out, although even as he said it he knew that was entirely different.

A smile flickered across her mouth. "I am a woman, Mr. Monk. Need I explain to you that that brings us closer in a way you cannot know. Marianne will not mind me. With Audley it would be quite different, for all his gentleness. He is a man, and nothing can alter that."

There was no possible comment to make on such a statement.

"What would you like to tell him to explain my presence?" he asked.