“Because she is just your type,” she said. “She is small and has those large eyes and blushes easily. Though I believe she has more sense and more spirit than your usual flirts, Dom. I approve.”

“Ah,” he said. “That is something, at least. You actually approve of something in my life.”

“You are in love with her, then?” she asked.

“Let me put it this way,” he said. “I am thinking about it. What surprised you about Mrs. Simpson?”

“I expected a pale, wilting creature,” she said, “or else a manly, insensitive Amazon. She seems sensible. Edmund and Alexandra were much impressed. What on earth is she doing married to Captain Simpson?”

He grinned again. “Loving him and caring for him, apparently,” he said. “He is one of the happiest men of my acquaintance.”

“Well,” she said, “I have to admire women like Mrs. Simpson. I’m afraid I am swayed a great deal by what a man looks like. Do you think that is one reason why I am an old maid, Dom?”

“You?” he said. “An old maid? Hardly, Mad. You have half the officers in Brussels sighing over you. Don’t you fancy any of them?”

She shrugged. “I fancy a large number of them,” she said. “That is the whole trouble. It used to be different, Dom, didn’t it? For both of us. We always used to be deeply and painfully in love with someone. That does not seem to happen any longer.”

“Because we are older and a little wiser,” he said. “Do you ever think of Purnell? Was he the last one you were in love with like that?”

“I scarce remember him,” she said. And then, after twisting and turning her teacup on its saucer, “Sometimes I wish I did not have a twin. There is no lying to you, is there, Dom? Of course I think of him. And I always feel a little sick every time Alexandra has a letter from him. He has been gone three years and is making a life for himself in Canada, by the sound of it. Well, good luck to him. I just wish I had never met him. I wish he were not Alexandra’s brother. I wish he had not spoiled my life.”