‘But yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘But yes. One has the potentialities for taste; on finding this out about oneself, ha, ha! – after a little self-probing, it is a cultivated thing, as you remark.’

‘Which needs assiduous concentration and diligence, no doubt,’ said the youth.

‘But yes; but yes,’ answered the Doctor smiling, with a note in his voice that suggested it was only common politeness in him to keep amused.

‘Surely such diligence is the same thing as ambitiousness. Ambitiousness to perfect your taste. That is what I mean by “ambition”, Doctor, I believe you have it. I do not mean ambition for success, for “success” is a meaningless word – the successful, so I hear, being very often, to themselves, failures of the first water.’

‘You interest me,’ said Prunesquallor. ‘I would like to speak to Lady Fuchsia alone. We haven’t been paying very much attention to her, I am afraid. We have deserted her. She is alone in a desert of her own. Only watch her.’

Fuchsia’s eyes were shut as she leaned back in the chair, her knees curled up under her.

‘While I speak with her you will be so very, very good as to leave the room. There’s a chair in the hall, Master Steerpike. Thank you, dear youth. It would be a handsome gesture.’

Steerpike disappeared at once, taking his brandy with him.

Prunesquallor looked at the old woman and the girl. Mrs Slagg, with her little mouth wide open, was fast asleep. Fuchsia had opened her eyes at the sound of the door shutting behind Steerpike.

The Doctor immediately beckoned her to approach. She came to him at once, her eyes wide.

‘I’ve waited so long, Dr Prune,’ she said. ‘Can I have my stone now?’

‘This very moment,’ said the Doctor. ‘This very second. You will not know very much about the nature of this stone, but you will treasure it more than anyone I could possibly think of. Fuchsia dear, you were so distraught as you ran like a wild pony away from your father and me; so distraught with your black mane and your big hungry eyes – that I said to myself: “It’s for Fuchsia”, although ponies don’t usually care much about such things, ha, ha, ha! But you will, won’t you?’

The Doctor took from his pocket a small pouch of softest leather.

‘Take it out yourself,’ he said. ‘Draw it out with this slender chain.’

Fuchsia took the pouch from the Doctor’s hand and from it drew forth into the lamplight a ruby like a lump of anger.

It burned in her palm.