She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. . She did not bother with the backpack despite its due tomorrow status. But Jack did not heed them. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. And your great-niece. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. who retailed a store of faded learning in the Tredgold laboratory. As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning in the study; so she stopped at the door. Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. He walked unsteadily towards the door.
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