But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. “We will take it then,” he said, “that you have refused or ignored one request I have made you this morning. He listened. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. ‘If it is that your men there are going to arrest us, then why do they not do so?’ ‘Left to myself, I’d let them,’ he replied grimly.
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