Isabel reaches into her skirt to find her handkerchief. She dabs her eyes and blows her nose before returning to her potatoes, saying no more. This is ominous.

There is a lengthy silence, punctuated only by the sounds of Isabel’s knife scraping the plate and Gerald chewing mouthfuls of cold beef and horseradish sauce.

Then, her father rests his knife on the edge of his plate and makes a contented huffing sound, as though he has reached an answer to a tricky conundrum. His moustache twitches as he chases a small piece of meat from a tooth with his tongue.

‘I wonder…’ He speaks to Isabel rather than Harriet. ‘Might we see whether young Ralph will bring forward the wedding by a month or so. He’s a steadying influence. He was very good over that suffragette business.’

Isabel considers this. ‘That might be an idea. It would give Harriet something to think about besides herself. I’m sure that the dressmaker could be encouraged to work faster, and the other arrangements could be made easily enough.’ She pauses. ‘It wouldn’t look like unseemly haste, would it? They’ve been engaged for a while. When would you think best? Next month? After Easter, perhaps?’

‘He hadn’t settled on a date, the last time I spoke to him. There was just a vague notion of July, as we know. But I’m sure that if I have a quiet word –’

The noise in Harriet’s throat emerges unbidden. A strangled cry of frustration that turns into a second, more violent sob.

‘Good heavens, what on earth is the matter?’ Isabel frowns at her.

‘Ralph,’ is all she can say. Then the words splutter out: ‘Ralph is the matter.’

Her mother drops her knife with a clatter. ‘Oh Harriet! Don’t tell me that you’ve had an argument with Ralph along with everything else. What have you done, foolish girl?’

‘What have I done?’ Harriet stands abruptly, throwing her napkin on the table. ‘What have I done? What makes you think that I am at fault?’

‘Don’t raise your voice,’ Isabel snaps. ‘Sit down at once. The servants will hear…’

‘I’m not raising my voice.’ She draws a long breath as she resumes her seat. ‘But you should know that I have been reconsidering my engagement to Ralph.’

‘What?’ Now Isabel’s voice begins to rise.

‘Calm down, Isabel,’ Gerald soothes from the other side of the table. ‘It’s likely as not just a tiff. What’s happened, Harrio?’

The use of her childhood name upsets her.

‘Oh, nothing,’ she says, failing to keep the misery from her tone. ‘Nothing at all, apart from his consorting with other women. Prostitutes. It’s little wonder that I lost my mind in Selfridges when I discovered it.’