He raised his champagne glass and tilted it towards her.

“To your health,” he said, “pretty young Sophie with the butter-yellow hair, whom I’m hoping to get to know very well indeed.”

It occurred to Sophie for the first time to wonder precisely what words Aunt Amy had used when describing her to Marcus, and exactly what sort of girl she had somehow led him to believe her to be.

“We’ll have to prepare for some talk, you and I,” he said, “when we go public. It’s so completely ridiculous on so very many levels: there’s the age difference apart from anything else, and, ‘Oh, Marcus,’ they’ll say, I can hear them already, ‘Oh, Marcus, not another blond, you silly, silly sausage.’”

Aunt Amy would be there soon, Sophie told herself. Aunt Amy would be there, she would take control, and normal life would resume. And there was nothing actually wrong with television, after all, she added to herself. There were actually some very good parts for women on television.

“But here’s the thing, yellow-haired Sophie,” Marcus continued. “I like blondes. Now you girls are much more imaginative than us chaps. You can fall for all sorts and shapes and colors and ages, and aren’t we blokes lucky you can, because it gives so very many more of us a chance with so very many more of you. Us poor boys, we’re an uncomplicated bunch, and the fact is that some of us like dark hair and some of us like blond, and that’s the long and the short of it, and I’m a blond man, always have been. And tell me, Sophie, is that so very wrong?”

It wasn’t just hospital dramas and period adaptations on television, Sophie reminded herself. There were some good and, yes, gritty new plays that were being written specifically for television, plays that would be a real challenge to appear in.

“Is it breaking the law of the land to like blondes?” asked Marcus. “Is it a sin? Was there an extra commandment on the second tablet Moses brought down from the mountain that said, ‘Thou shalt not prefer fair hair to dark’? I don’t think so, do you, Sophie? Anyway, you’ll stand by a chap, won’t you, Sophie, when they start talking about us? Show some of that wonderful fiery family spirit—what your aunt would call moxie—and stand up for me?”

And if you were lucky enough to land a recurring role on a series, she continued to herself, then you could have the chance to explore the same character over a period of time, in a way you never could on the stage. Really, she concluded, when you thought about it, there were very many ways in which television was actually preferable to the stage.

“Good girl, Sophie,” said Marcus. “I knew I could count on you. I have a feeling that we’re going to be very great friends, you and I.”

Suddenly, his eyes shifted to a spot above Sophie’s shoulder, and his face broke into a broad smile of the purest delight.