“Well,” said Arabella, “they are certainly very beautiful. I particularly like the pictures of processions and feasts – we have nothing like them in England. So many fluttering banners! So many gilded boats and exquisite costumes! But it seems to me that the artist loves buildings and blue skies more than people. He has made them so small, so insignificant! Among so many marble palaces and bridges they seem almost lost. Do not you think so?”

This seemed to amuse the young woman. She smiled a wry smile. “Lost?” she said. “Oh, I should think they are indeed lost, poor souls! For, when all is said and done, Venice is only a labyrinth – a vast and beautiful labyrinth to be sure, but a labyrinth nonetheless and none but its oldest inhabitants can be sure of finding their way about – or, at least, that is my understanding.”

“Indeed?” said Arabella. “That must certainly be very inconvenient. But then the sensation of being lost in a labyrinth must be so delightful! Oh! I believe I should give almost any thing to go there!”

The young woman regarded her with an odd, melancholy smile. “If you had spent months, as I have done, wearily parading through endless dark passageways, you would think very differently. The pleasures of losing oneself in a maze pall very quickly. And as for curious ceremonies, processions and feasts, well …” She shrugged. “I quite detest them!”

Arabella did not very well comprehend her, but thought that it might help if she discovered who the young woman was, and so she inquired as to her name.

“I am Lady Pole.”

“Oh! Of course!” said Arabella and wondered why she had not thought of this before. She told Lady Pole her own name and that her husband had business with Sir Walter, which was the reason of her being there.

A sudden burst of loud laughter was heard from the direction of the library.

“They are supposed to be talking of the war,” Arabella observed to her ladyship, “but either the war has got a great deal more entertaining recently, or else – as I suspect – they have left business far behind and have got to gossiping about their acquaintance. Half an hour ago Mr Strange could think of nothing but his next appointment, but now I suppose Sir Walter has drawn him off to talk of other things and I dare say he has forgot all about it.” She smiled to herself as wives do when they pretend to criticize their husbands, but are really boasting of them. “I really do believe he is the most easily distracted creature in the world. Mr Norrell’s patience must be sorely tried sometimes.”

“Mr Norrell?” said Lady Pole.

“Mr Strange has the honour to be Mr Norrell’s pupil,” said Arabella.