‘You were his daughter. Yet the fact remains that you do not understand me at all. “I suppose you could at least tune it for us if you know how to play. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. And what a noise they made! This is how I used to call them. ‘Yes, miss. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady.
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