It had been a month since I had seen my sister. There was a fondness between us that always was restrained-I believe because Papa was watchful of our ways. The journey took two hours. I loitered on the way, had oysters at an inn and passed the border into Kent at noon. I thought of my doors of childhood as I rode the lanes and almost wished to be a child again, though out of boredom rather than desire.

The house had a blank look as I took the driveway to it-that blank look that lonely country houses often have when the sun sheens the windows and makes them glitter white, or gives a dullness to the glass. A gardener doffed his hat to me and stirred his fork along a border where some rhododendrons showed their thick, plump growth. The maid who let me in was thin and pale as if the sunlight always skirted her. Mistress was lying down, she said, but Miss Caroline would receive me in the drawing room.

I wished to ask who Miss Caroline was, but one does not ask an unknown servant that. The etiquette on such a matter being strange, and I no expert at such things, said I would announce myself, put my hat and basket down and went straight in.

Ah, what a vision rose to greet me as I parted the waves of the two doors! I saw the most exquisite creature, scarce more than my own age and dressed in white and pink, a ribbon in her nut brown hair that tressed her shoulders in long waves. Her nose was small and straight, her eyes were huge. I remember noticing immediately how small her waist was and how svelte her hips-how prominent her breasts were for her years, how lovely were her lips.

We were soon introduced. Without staider adults present, it is always easier.

“Adelaide is well?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, indeed-that is to say… Harry, I must speak with you-strangers as we are, you will not mind? May we have wine? I am more the visitor than you,” she smiled and swept her skirt behind her legs and sat.