"I would not go to Wesley even if he were still in London," she said, after the dog had lain down at her feet and set his chin down between his paws with a huff of contentment. She turned back to the window and drummed her fingertips slowly on the sill. "No, I am going to find a man. A /rich/ man. Very rich. And he will support us all royally. It will not be charity, Alice. It will be employment, and I shall give excellent value for money."

There was a hard edge of contempt to her voice, though it was unclear whether her scorn was directed at the unknown gentleman who would become her protector or at herself. She had been a wife for nine years, but she had never before been a mistress.

Now she would be.

"Oh," Alice said, her voice filled with distress, "has it really come to this? I will not allow it. There has to be another answer. I will /not/ allow it. Not when one of your reasons is that you feel obliged to support me."

Cassandra's eyes followed an ancient carriage as it lumbered its way along the street below the window, its coachman looking as aged as it.

"You will not allow it?" she said. "But you cannot stop me, Alice. The days when I was /Cassandra/ and you were /Miss Haytor/ are long gone. I may have very little left. I have almost no money and absolutely no reputation. I have no friends beyond these doors and no relatives who will inconvenience themselves in order to help me. But I do have one thing, one asset that will assure me gainful employment and restore comfort and security to our lives. I am beautiful. And desirable."

Under other circumstances the boast might have sounded unpardonably conceited. But it was made with hard mockery.