The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. Take it, if I die. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. I meant mischief. And the way he and the other men looked at her! The desire was plain on their faces, so many noblemen reduced to their simplest elements! They looked at her sideways, they looked at her backside, scanning her blue eyes and even looking right into her face. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. ‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly.
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