“May I take a look at what his lordship has written,” Breda said, “then I’ll know what direction we are to take. For the love of God,” she added, pursing her lips, “he has a terrible spidery scrawl. Why is it that the better educated a person is, the worse his writing is? My brother Padraig can write in a better hand, and he’s had but three years of school. We’ll go this way, my lady, past St. Stephen’s Green towards Merrion Square.”

Turning away from Grafton Street, a few steps took them to an impressively wide boulevard, and Margaret got her first glimpse of the true splendour of Georgian Dublin. The iron railings of a pretty park were on one side, where four open carriages sat waiting for custom. On the other side, the red brick and sandstone frontage of the Shelbourne Hotel dominated, with a liveried doorman kept constantly occupied by the stream of carriages. Margaret had imagined a cityscape similar to the New Town in Edinburgh, but the frontages of the houses here were red brick rather than sandstone, the buildings themselves, with their flat roofs and pretty porticos with shallow steps and fanlights above the glossily painted doors, less uniform and to her eyes more appealing. Georgian town houses faced onto all four sides of the pretty Merrion Square. Peering over the railings into the private gardens, nursemaids could be seen pushing baby carriages along the meandering paths, and well-dressed children scampered on the grass playing with hoops and balls.

“It’s lovely here,” Breda said, “but walk a bit farther on to the canal, and it’s a different story. Leinster House, which is on his lordship’s list, is just down here, though I’m not sure why he mentioned it.”

“It is by the same architect who redesigned Powerscourt,” Margaret informed her. “Apparently there are many similar features. That must be it over there.” She paused to gaze at the Palladian style mansion from the edge of its extensive gardens, trying to summon an appropriate sense of deference, but instead found herself mildly irritated, for by following the viscount’s itinerary she was allowing him to dominate their precious day away.

“Trinity is next,” Breda said, setting out stoically.

The college was lovely, gracious grey granite buildings looking out over more swathes of green, with gowned undergraduates rushing about clutching books; but as Margaret and Breda emerged at College Green opposite the bank which was once the parliament building, Margaret had had enough, though they had completed only a fraction of the viscount’s tour. “I think I’ll visit the bookshop now, and then it will be time for tea at the Shelbourne,” she said firmly.