The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. I hadn’t heard of him before the trial. Assessing him as harmless, she had remained friendly, albeit aloof. ’ Melusine took refuge in defiance.
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