“I know what people presume,” Livia said quietly, her cheeks very pink. “I simply cannot believe it is true. I won’t.”

No one could easily believe it of her own father. Hester would not have believed it of hers. It was not rational. The brain said that one’s father was human like any other man, but all the heart and the will denied the very idea that he would lower himself to indulge carnal appetites with a woman paid from the streets. It awoke something inside oneself as to the origin of one’s own existence, the nature of one’s physical creation, and something unbearable about one’s mother as well. It was a betrayal beyond acceptance.

“No,” Hester said, not really as a reply, simply an understanding. “Of course not. Perhaps your brother may know if he intended to meet someone, or if not, at least what his destination might have been.”

“I have already tried,” Livia said with both embarrassment and anger. “He simply told me not to worry myself, that the police would find the answer, and not to listen to anyone.”

“That might be good advice,” Hester conceded. “At least the part about not listening to what people say.”

There was a knock on the door, and almost before Livia had finished answering, it opened. A dark, lithe man in his thirties came in, hesitating when he saw Hester, but only momentarily. He had an air of confidence about him which was arrogant, even abrasive, and yet had a certain attraction. Perhaps it was the feeling of energy in him which appealed, almost like a fire, at once dangerous and alive. He moved with grace, and he wore his clothes as if elegance were natural to him. He reminded Hester fleetingly of Monk as he would have been in his early thirties. Then the impression was gone. This man lacked a depth of emotion. His fire was of the head, not the heart.

Livia looked over at him, and her face lit instantly. It was not something she did consciously, but it was impossible to mistake her pleasure.

“Michael! I was not expecting you.” She turned to Hester. “I should like you to meet Mr. Michael Dalgarno, my brother’s partner. Michael, this is Mrs. Monk, who has been kind enough to call upon me in connection with a charity in which I am interested.” She barely blushed at her lie. She was perfectly used to the accommodation of social exchange.

“How do you do, Mrs. Monk.” Dalgarno bowed very slightly. “I am delighted to meet you, and I apologize for intruding upon your tea. I had not realized Miss Baltimore had company, or I should not have been so forward.” He turned to look at Livia and smiled; it was deliberate and devastatingly charming. There was a candor to it that was as intimate as a touch.