"How do you do, Miss Ballinger," Rathbone said civilly. He hated these forced conversations and wished more than ever that he had refused to come across with FitzRobert. Nothing he could possibly learn about Barton Lambert or his daughter would compensate for the awkwardness of it. In fact, it would be of no use whatever, because he did not intend to take Killian Melville's case, should it arise. It was Melville's own fault he was in this predicament, and he should use his common sense to get himself out of it, or else abide the consequences, which were more than likely to be only the same as those experienced by the majority of men in the world. Zillah Lambert was most attractive and would come with a handsome dowry. Left to his own choice he might well do very much worse.

"And my younger daughter, Julia," Mrs. Ballinger was saying to him.

"How do you do, Miss Julia." Rathbone inclined his head towards her. She was no prettier than her sister and had the same frank, almost amused stare.

"Did you attend the concert at Lady Thorpe's house yesterday evening?" Mrs. Ballinger was asking Mrs. Lambert. "We went for Margaret's sake. She is so fond of music, and of course is a most accomplished violinist, if I do say so myself." She turned to Rathbone with a bright smile. "Are you fond of music, Sir Oliver?"

Rathbone wanted to lie and say he was tone-deaf. He saw the eagerness in Mrs. Ballinger's face and the embarrassment in Margaret's. She must feel as if she were bloodstock being paraded in front of a prospective buyer. It was not far from the truth.

Mrs. Lambert smiled with inner satisfaction. She had already won and no longer needed to compete. The triumph of it was luminous in her eyes. Zillah herself looked serenely happy.

Rathbone felt like part of a group picnicking in the sun, and he was the only one aware of the clouds thickening over the horizon, and growing chill in the air.

Mrs. Ballinger was waiting for a reply.

Rathbone looked at Margaret, and his compassion overcame his sense and he answered with the truth.

"Yes, I am very fond of music, particularly the violin."

Mrs. Ballinger's answer was immediate.

"Then perhaps you would care to visit with us some occasion and hear Margaret play. We are holding a soiree next Thursday."

Margaret bit her lip and the color mounted up her face. She turned away from Rathbone, and he was quite certain she would have looked daggers at her mother had she dared. He wondered how many times before she had endured this scene, or ones like it.

He had walked straight into the trap. He was almost as angry as Margaret at the blatancy of it. And yet neither of them could do anything without making it worse.

Delphine Lambert was watching with an air of gentle amusement, her delicate mouth not quite smiling.