Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. Ann Veronica considered her answer. ‘Your niece, ma’am. Lucia watched in fascination as Isobella nodded at her, only three years older than she, nursing her son with a contented smile upon her face. “I am afraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. She found herself in a phase of violent reaction against the suffrage movement, a phase greatly promoted by one of those unreasonable objections people of Ann Veronica’s temperament take at times—to the girl in the next cell to her own.
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