His younger brother, he told her, was an explorer in the field of Natural Science, currently working on the island of Borneo in the Malay Archipelago. This extraordinary adventurousness of his made Valentine Ross feel ‘parochial’, or so he admitted, but he added that there was nothing to be done about it. He was not the kind of man who yearned to see raging cataracts and rainforests where no light fell. He couldn’t completely understand, either – so he told Clorinda Morrissey – the white man’s desire to discover ‘lost tribes’ in parts of the world nobody had yet mapped, being inclined to think that these people might be happy in their ‘lostness’ and living lives of quiet content.

‘I’m perfectly sure you’re right!’ Mrs Morrissey had replied. ‘Now me, I like all the clamour of the city. But when I was a girl, our Mam used to take us all to see our Grandpappy, who was a lobster fisherman off the West Coast of County Clare. And you could argue that he was a ‘lost’ man – living in a low cottage miles from anywhere and facing straight out into the heartless ocean. But he didn’t want it any other way. He’d gather sea pinks for a jug on his old worm-eaten table and samphire for his supper. When we visited, we had bread and cockles for our dinner, and spent all our days running wild by the shore. He was kind to us, but what he liked most was to be left alone. When we left, he’d celebrate with a jug of stout! “Off you go!” he’d say. “Off, off!” So if you were a forest man and never on any map, might you, perhaps, be like him and the very happiest of people? But who can really say?’

Now, as Clorinda Morrissey approached Dr Ross’s table, she noticed that his hand was shaking as he endeavoured to light his cheroot. His complexion, which usually suggested a calm demeanour and the obedient circulation of his blood, appeared pale and there was a faint beading of sweat on his brow.

‘Doctor Ross,’ said Clorinda. ‘Are you well, Sir?’

‘Quite well, Mrs Morrissey. And yourself?’

‘Oh yes. Enjoying the autumn sunshine. Will I bring the usual Assam?’

To this question, Ross hesitated and cast an anguished glance at the door.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Thank you. I will wait. I am expecting a guest.’

‘Oh now, that’s nice for a change,’ said Mrs Morrissey. ‘You may be wanting the cake and scones, then?’

‘Yes,’ said Ross. ‘But I will wait to see …’

At this moment, the door of the tea rooms opened and a young woman came in. One should say that she strode in, rather, and the eyes of those already enjoying their tea turned towards her, for the simple reason that she was excessively tall. Mrs Morrissey guessed that she must have been six foot two inches – or more. She wore no bonnet or hat, but her dark coat was fashionably waisted and trimmed with fur. She held her head so high that, at first, as she looked around her, her gaze fell upon the papered walls and not upon the clientele seated at the tables. This gaze of hers, Clorinda Morrissey at once perceived, was of a stern and penetrating kind.