As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her.
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