Ray Fortescue got off her bus and walked up the street. She was wearing her new autumn suit, because nothing gives you so much confidence as to feel that you are looking your best. The suit was a success, and so was the little off-the-face hat that went with it. They were perfectly matched, and they were just two shades lighter than her dark brown hair. There was a spray of autumn leaves and berries on the hat, repeating the gay lipstick which went so well with the clear brown of her skin. She wasn’t a beauty, but she had her points, and she knew how to make the most of them. Her eyes were a clear amber with very dark lashes, and they were widely set. Her face showed balance, character, control, and she had the figure which most girls long for. It looked very well in the brown suit.

She rang the bell at the small house where the window-boxes were gay with asters against very bright green paint. Whatever Lady Dryden said and whatever Lady Dryden did, she was going to see Lila. Lila might call Lady Dryden Aunt Sybil and be well down under her thumb, but when all was said and done they weren’t really relations at all. Old John Dryden had adopted Lila, and then five years later Sybil had married him and more or less bullied him into his grave. She remembered his giving them sweets behind Sybil’s back, and always finishing up with ‘Better not let your aunt know. She thinks they’re bad for you. But’-chuckling-‘we know better, don’t we?’ Not an awfully good way to bring up a child, but that was the sort of thing that happened under a totalitarian regime.

Lady Dryden’s elderly parlourmaid opened the door.

‘Good afternoon, Palmer. I’ve come to see Miss Lila.’

Palmer looked down her long thin rose. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but with the best will in the world it didn’t really come off. Lady Dryden had the nose for it and Palmer hadn’t, but she went on trying.