And what, in her, had justified her disdainful refusal of a man like Valentine Ross? Jane knew that, as a doctor, he was accomplished and strong, that he had done no harm in the world, that he was offering her an honest life. Yet she had treated him like a foolish boy, teasing and belittling him. Was this fact alone not proof that where she thought she was marvellous, she was merely haughty and full of pride?

And yet …

It persisted in her – she knew that it did – this feeling that her life would one day bring her proof that she was exceptional. But how was she to advance towards that proof?

Jane looked down at the small figure in her hands. And it came to her that it had been suffering which had refined Emmeline Adeane. She herself had been through flames and had found the means to heal herself. Without realising that she was speaking aloud, Jane whispered, ‘when or how will any flame engulf me?’

‘What did you say, Jane?’ asked Emmeline.

‘Oh. I was just giving words to what was in my head.’

‘And what was in your head? It’s your mind as well as your body which this portrait is going in search of.’

‘Yes, I know, dear Aunt. And if you find it, do please tell me what I’m thinking.’

‘Naturally I will. But now you must tell me what you just said aloud.’

Jane turned her head for a moment, regarding the low day-bed where, she had been told, to her emphatic distaste, Mr Hulton used to lie and practise onanism while watching the young Emmeline’s unclothed right arm at work upon a painting.

‘Well,’ said Jane, ‘I was remembering that before I came to London I refused an offer of marriage.’

‘Ah,’ said Emmeline, pausing for a moment with her stick of charcoal in her hand. ‘Whom did you refuse?’

‘He is no one. Or that is how I can’t help but see him. He proposed to me in a tea room.’

A broad smile now lit Emmeline’s face. ‘A tea room, indeed,’ she said. ‘What kind of cake were you eating?’

‘I believe it was a lemon cake. And at a table not far distant there was a small dog which began to howl.’

‘Ah. So the dog’s howling helped you to make up your mind to refuse the man?’

‘No. I knew I would refuse him. The name of the person is Valentine Ross. And I could never marry a man called Valentine, could I, Aunt? There is far too much romantic flummery in the name, isn’t there?’

‘Romantic flummery? And that, of course, is not to your taste?’

‘No. It certainly is not. I like things to be stark and plain.’

Emmeline was silent. She turned back to her work on the portrait. Then, she said to Jane, ‘What was Valentine’s station in life?’

‘Oh,’ said Jane, ‘he is a doctor, who works with my father at Henrietta Street.’