‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. What a treat to see all the old tabbies taken at fault for once!’ ‘You are a dreadful child,’ scolded Mrs Sindlesham, with which Melusine could not but agree, despite the dimple rioting in her great-aunt’s cheek. . ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners.
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