“But Arabella does not care for seed-cake,” interrupted Strange, absent-mindedly picking up Belinda himself and beginning to read the first volume, “It is a thing she particularly dislikes.”

“A glass of madeira, then,” said Sir Walter. “You will take some madeira, I am sure. Stephen! … Stephen, fetch Mrs Strange a glass of madeira.”

In the eerie, silent fashion peculiar to high-trained London servants, a tall black servant appeared at Sir Walter’s elbow. Mr Strange seemed quite startled by his sudden arrival and stared hard at him for several moments, before he said to his wife, “You do not want madeira, do you? You do not want any thing.”

“No, Jonathan. I do not want any thing,” agreed his wife, laughing at their odd argument. “Thank you, Sir Walter, but I am perfectly content to sit here quietly and read.”

The black servant bowed and departed as silently as he had come, and Strange and Sir Walter went off to talk of the French fleet and the missing English ships.

But when she was left alone, Arabella found that she was not after all in a mood for reading. On looking round the room in search of amusement her eye was caught by a large painting. It was a landscape comprising woods and a ruined castle perched on top of a cliff. The trees were dark and the ruins and cliff were touched with gold by the light of a setting sun; the sky by contrast was full of light and glowed with pearly colour. A large portion of the foreground was occupied by a silvery pool in which a young woman appeared to be drowning; a second figure bent over her – whether man, woman, satyr or faun, it was impossible to determine and, though Arabella studied their postures carefully, she could not decide whether it was the intention of the second figure to save the young woman or murder her. When she had tired of looking at this painting Arabella wandered out into the passage to look at the pictures there but, as these were for the most part watercolour views of Brighton and Chelmsford, she found them very dull.

Sir Walter and Strange could be heard talking in another room.

“… extraordinary thing! Yet he is an excellent fellow in his way,” said Sir Walter’s voice.

“Oh! I know who you mean! He has a brother who is the organist at Bath Cathedral,” said Strange. “He has a black-and-white cat that walks about the Bath streets just ahead of him. Once, when I was in Milsom-street …”

A door stood open, through which Arabella could see a very elegant drawing-room with a great number of paintings that appeared to be more splendid and richly coloured than any she had yet seen. She went in.