She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. There was a lot of that, John, a great deal of hunger. “But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty. He shuddered. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. He would have to probe further. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. His face darkened.
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