One morning they were sitting together at their needlework. Arabella put down her work with a gesture of impatience and went to the window. “There is a spirit of restlessness upon me,” she said.

“It is to be expected,” said Flora, gently. “Be patient. In time your spirits will be what they were before.”

“Will they?” said Arabella, with a sigh. “Truth to own, I really do not remember what I was like before.”

“Then I will tell you. You were always cheerful – tho’ often left to your own devices. You were hardly ever out of temper – tho’ often severely provoked. Your every speech was remarkable for its wit and genius – tho’ you got no credit for it and almost always received a flat contradiction.”

Arabella laughed. “Good Heavens! What a prodigy I was! But,” she said with a wry look, “I am not inclined to put much trust in this portrait, since you never saw me.”

“Mr Strange told me. Those are his words.”

“Oh!” said Arabella. She turned her face away.

Flora cast her eyes down and said softly, “When he returns, he will do more to restore you to yourself than any one else could. You will be happy again.” She glanced up.

Arabella was silent for a moment. She said, “I am not sure that we will see each other again.”

Flora took up her needlework again. After a moment she said, “It is very odd that he should have gone back to his old master at last.”

“Is it? There seems nothing very extraordinary in it to me. I never thought the quarrel would last as long as it did. I thought they would have been friends again by the end of the first month.”

“You quite astonish me!” said Flora. “When Mr Strange was with us he did not have a good word to say for Mr Norrell – and Mr Norrell has published the most dreadful things about Mr Strange in the magical journals.”

“Oh, I dare say!” said Arabella, entirely unimpressed. “But that was just their nonsense! They are both as stubborn as Old Scratch. I have no cause to love Mr Norrell – far from it. But I know this about him: he is a magician first and everything else second – and Jonathan is the same. Books and magic are all either of them really cares about. No one else understands the subject as they do – and so, you see, it is only natural that they should like to be together.”

As the weeks went by Arabella smiled and laughed more often. She became interested in everything that concerned her new friends. Her days were taken up with sociable meals, errands and the pleasant obligations of friendship – small domestic matters with which her sore mind and wounded spirit were glad to refresh themselves. Of her absent husband she thought very little, except to be grateful for his consideration in placing her with the Greysteels.

There happened to be a young Irish captain in Padua just then and several people were of the opinion that he admired Flora – though Flora said that he did not. He had led a company of cavalry into the teeth of the severest gunfire at Waterloo; yet his courage all seemed to desert him where Flora was concerned. He could not look at her without blushing and was most alarmed whenever she entered a room. Generally he found it easier to apply to Mrs Strange for intelligence of when Flora might be walking in the Prato della Valle (a beautiful garden at the heart of the city) or when she might next visit the Baxters (some mutual friends); and Arabella was always glad to help him.