‘I say, Aunt,’ George was confiding, ‘Miss Knatchbull is somewhat altered since the last time I saw her. I must confess to feeling quite disconcerted.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Miss Austen gave a light laugh. ‘’Tis always the height of a young lady’s powers: when Beauty appears, but she has not known to expect it and is yet to hear it is come.’

They had come for the Stubbs room, but did not stay very long.

‘What a relief,’ Cassy declared as they emerged into the sunshine. ‘I am quite done with horses and as for execution and brush, who gives a fig? All I could think of was the wretched beast, forced to stand still for hour upon hour. You don’t have to live in a field to grasp how much the poor, noble darlings loathe such—’

‘Knight!’ The cry came from the street. ‘Knight, my dear fellow.’

‘I say, sir!’ Mr Knight’s fine blue eyes danced with delight. ‘I must declare this a coincidence.’

The stranger – tall, dark and, Mary could hardly deny it, exceedingly handsome – crossed over to meet them with a quick, graceful step. The necessary introductions were made.

‘… and, lastly, may I present my sister, Miss Knight.’

Naturally, Lord George Hill, for this was the stranger, acquitted himself admirably while addressing each of the ladies. Although was it Mary’s imagining or did he indeed rather linger about Cassy?

The gentlemen proceeded to regale them then with the story of their acquaintance. Mary heard something about a regiment, a brother and a party; the inevitable slaughter of some unfortunate wild animals and the amusement it brought. But in truth, Mary’s attention was a little diverted. For she could not help but notice that their party had undergone a slight, subtle change.

The compact, happy foursome which had emerged from the gallery was now broken up. During the course of telling their story, it appeared that both gentlemen had been on quiet manoeuvres, with the result that his lordship was now standing with Cassy, and Mr Knight by Mary’s side.

Miss Austen, somewhere between the two couples but also distinctly alone, sucked at her cheeks, before raising an eyebrow and, finally, a smile.

‘Well now,’ she declared, ‘is this not most pleasant?’ She turned to the street then, and gasped. ‘And do look: the first of the daffodils! What a glorious vision!

‘When I left Hampshire, you know, the trees were quite brown and bare. One or two more weeks in the company of you dear young people, and I shall return to a new world of green.’

With hindsight, Mary’s London spell of the year ’24 now seemed no more than a dream.