His foot touched the rounded edge of the starling, and glanced off, precipitating him into the water. The lady grasped it more firmly and turned it upon Hilary. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. It must be somewhere hereabouts. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. Quite right.
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