"I guessed as much. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. " "Not in this world," returned Jonathan. Her brother Roddy, who was in the motor line, came to expostulate; her sister Alice wrote.
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