” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. This woman knows me—’ throwing the remark at Lucilla ‘—and that I am the daughter of Mary Remenham. Ah, no, I have it wrong. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank.
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