Diane spoke first. " "But you are young!" It was a protest, almost vehement. A pretty name for a pretty girl. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. To—to find myself. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. He kissed her cheek. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. Her mother had prepared her for everything. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood.
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