She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. I believe that her ladyship is going to Carey House, and on to the Marquis of Waterford’s ball,” he added, hastily consulting a diary on the hall table. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. It’s not like we’re getting married. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, these two must epitomise it. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas.
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