She loved her mother Marina more than any other thing in the world and could not bear to speak to her for a fortnight after being told her fate. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. “I daresay the gallery will be full, but there is always the chance, and I know you two are keen on Melba. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. “Do you understand what I am talking about? It’s no good if you don’t. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster.
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