She still kicked herself for it. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. My wife doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand now. Give me this picture. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room.
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