‘These girls – whose backgrounds are very widely varied – are known as the “Tiffany girls”.’ Her voice took on a dry note. ‘All these items are listed for sale under the name Tiffany, that of course being the company name. But in fact most of the lamps which have come to appear as familiar Tiffany creations were designed by Clara Driscoll.’

By the time questions had been asked, more applause given and they had filed back down on to the street where everyone set off in their own direction, Margaret was still in a daze.

‘Come along, Daisy,’ Mr Carson said. ‘You take my hand and tell me all about it.’

‘All about what?’ Margaret heard Daisy say, and Mr Carson laughed.

‘Will he be going out of his way?’ Margaret asked Philip Tallis.

‘Oh – no,’ he said easily. ‘He lives just round in Vittoria Street.’

They set off again. The streets had filled with fog and Mr Carson and Daisy were already ghostly figures ahead of them.

‘Look – take my arm,’ Philip Tallis said. ‘I know the way all right.’

Surprised, but realizing this was only practical, Margaret laced her arm through his. It did not feel over-intimate – it would have been a struggle to stay together without it, and she knew it was what he would have suggested to Daisy. It felt safe and companionable.

The constraint Margaret would have felt walking with him was also pushed into the background by her excitement.

‘I’m so glad we went!’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that stained glass. So beautiful – I had no idea there were such things in the world!’

Philip Tallis gave a low chuckle. ‘I’m glad you liked it. But you must have seen stained-glass windows – in churches?’

‘Well, once or twice – but not in ours. Our church is very plain. And never like those – so . . . Oh, like windows into heaven! We never really had very beautiful things at home, you see. Because we’re such a religious household they were looked upon as . . . superfluous. Vain. We never thought about it, I suppose. We did have the beauty of nature around us – but there were always so many things to do. Even though my mother was from here . . .’

‘Was she?’ Philip Tallis sounded surprised. Margaret was gratified that no gossip seemed to have reached him.

‘Yes – she was Uncle Eb’s sister. In fact, she worked for their father here for a time. And she did wear jewellery sometimes, even though she was religious! But that was how she met my father.’ She glanced round at him. ‘But our mother died when I was thirteen.’

‘I see,’ he said. ‘No wonder you have a feeling for Daisy.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘though I was lucky enough to have my sister Annie.’

They walked in silence for a moment, Margaret still awash with all that she had seen, and was somehow drawn out of herself.

‘Beautiful things like that change you,’ she said suddenly.