“But that isn’t admitting she killed anybody.”

“I am not simple. I put the question directly—or as directly as seemed possible in the rather emotional situation. I said, ‘Netty, tell me truly, who opened the windows? Netty, darling, I’ll never breathe it to a soul—did you do it, out of loyalty to Daddy?’ She gave me the very queerest look she’s ever given me—and there have been some dillies—and said, ‘Caroline don’t you ever breathe or hint any such terrible thing again!’ ”

“Well, then, there you have it. She said she didn’t.”

“She said no such thing! If she didn’t, who did? Things make sense, Davey. There is nothing without an explanation. And that is the only explanation possible. She didn’t say she hadn’t done it. She chose her words carefully.”

“God! What a mess.”

“But fascinating, don’t you think? We are children of a fated house.”

“Oh, bullshit! But look—you’ve jumped to a lot of conclusions. I mean, about us being Ramsay’s children—”

“About you being Ramsay’s child. I don’t come into that part.”

“Why me?”

“Well, look at me; I am unmistakenly Boy Staunton’s daughter. Everybody says so. I look very much like him. Do you?”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“I can quite understand you don’t want to think so.”

“I think this is all something you’ve made up to amuse yourself. And I think it’s damn nasty—throwing dirt on Mother and making me out to be a bastard. And all this crap about love. What do you know about love? You’re just a kid! You haven’t even got your monthlies yet!”

“So what, Havelock Ellis? I’ve got my full quota of intelligence and that’s more than you can say.”

“Intelligence! You’re just a nasty-minded, mischief-making kid!”

“Oh, go and pee up a tree!” said my sister, who picked up a lot of coarse language at Bishop Cairncross’s.

I took my headache, which was now much worse, to my own room. I looked in the mirror. Caroline was crazy. There was nothing in my face to suggest Dunstan Ramsay. Or was there? If you put my beautiful mother and Old Buggerlugs together, would you produce anything like me? Caroline had such certainty. Of course she was a greedy novel-reader and romancer, but she was no fool. I didn’t look in the least like my father, or the Stauntons, or the Cruikshanks. But—?

I went to bed disheartened but could not sleep. I wanted something, and it took me a long time to admit to myself what I wanted. It was Felix. This was terrible. At my age, wanting a toy bear! It must be the drink. I would never touch a drop of that awful stuff again.

Next day, with elaborate casualness, I asked Netty what had happened to Felix.

“I threw him out years ago,” she said. “What would you want with an old thing like that? He’d only breed moths.”

DR VON HALLER: Your sister sounds very interesting. Is she still like that?

MYSELF: In an adult way, yes, she is. A great manager. And quite a mischief-maker.