“Mr Strange?” smiled Arabella. “No, never. I am more in the habit of saving him! I mean,” she added quickly, since it was clear that Lady Pole did not understand her, “that he often meets with people who wish him to do magic on their behalf. – Or they have a great-nephew who wishes to learn magic from him. – Or they believe they have discovered a magic shoe or fork or some such nonsense. They mean no harm. Indeed they are generally most respectful. But Mr Strange is not the most patient of men and so I am obliged to go in and rescue him before he says something that he had much better not.”

It was time for Arabella to be thinking of leaving and she began upon her goodbyes. Now that they might not meet again for many months she was particularly anxious to say something cheerful. “And I hope, my dear Lady Pole,” she said, “that when you and I next meet you will be a great deal better and perhaps able to go out into society again. It is my dearest wish that one day we shall see each other at a theatre or in a ballroom …”

“A ballroom!” exclaimed Lady Pole in horror. “What in the world should make you say that? God forbid that you and I should ever meet in a ballroom!”

“Hush! Hush! I never meant to distress you. I forgot how you hate dancing. Come, do not weep! Do not think of it, if it makes you unhappy!”

She did her best to soothe her friend. She embraced her, kissed her cheek and her hair, stroked her hand, offered her lavender-water. Nothing did any good. For several minutes Lady Pole was entirely given over to a fit of weeping. Arabella could not quite understand what the matter was. But then again, what understanding could there be? It was part of her ladyship’s complaint to be put in a fright by trifles, to be made unhappy by nothing at all. Arabella rang the bell to summon the maid.

Only when the maid appeared, did her ladyship at last make an effort to compose herself. “You do not understand what you have said!” she cried. “And God forbid that you should ever find out as I have. I shall try to warn you – I know it is hopeless, but I shall try! Listen to me, my dear, dear Mrs Strange. Listen as if your hopes of eternal salvation depended upon it!”

So Arabella looked as attentive as she possibly could.

But it was all to no end. This occasion proved no different from any other when her ladyship had claimed to have something of great importance to communicate to Arabella. She looked pale, took several deep breaths – and then proceeded to relate a very odd story about the owner of a Derbyshire leadmine who fell in love with a milkmaid. The milkmaid was everything the mine-owner had ever hoped for, except that her reflection always came several minutes too late into a mirror, her eyes changed colour at sunset and her shadow was often seen dancing wild dances when she herself was still.