9. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. “Come on in, Michelle. ” “Yes, Lucy, but you could make the same statement looking in the mirror.
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