He must find a conversation to hold with Margaret. She was dancing with her head turned away, self-conscious, almost as if she feared he had invited her only to save her embarrassment It was half true. He wished to make it wholly a lie. She seemed so very vulnerable.

"Do you know this architect, Killian Melville?" he asked.

"I have met him three or four times," she answered, a slight lift of surprise in her voice, and she looked up towards him. "Are you interested in architecture, Sir Oliver?"

"Not especially," he said with a smile. "I suppose I tend to be most aware of it when it offends me. I am rather used to agreeable surroundings. Perhaps I take them for granted. What is his work like? A less biased opinion than Miss Lambert's, if you have one…"

She laughed. "Oh, yes indeed. I did like him. He was so easy to talk to. Not in the least… brash or-oh, dear, I don't know how to pursue it without sounding…" She stopped again.

"Now you have me fascinated," he admitted. "Please tell me. Speak frankly, and I promise not to take offense-or to repeat it."

She regarded him uncertainly, then relaxed, and her eyes lost the anxiety they had held until that moment. He realized that without the artificial necessity to be charming, biddable, pretty and accommodating, she was almost certainly an intelligent and most likable person.

"Yes?" he prompted.

She laughed. "I found Mr. Melville one of the most comfortable people I ever encountered," she said, swirling gracefully in his arms as they negotiated a complicated corner, her huge, pale skirts flying. "He never seemed to misunderstand or to need to prove himself and-and parade… as so many young men do… I-" She bit her lip. "I hope that does not sound too unkind?"