‘Yes,’ said Robert, ‘you are different.’ His tone was sardonic. I changed the subject. ‘What are you thinking about, Margaret?’ I inquired. I might have saved my breath, for she replied that she was thinking about what I’d been saying. ‘Don’t listen to me,’ I said. ‘I talk a lot of nonsense.’ It was sufficiently irritating to have been forced into making such a statement without what happened next. Monica repeated my words. ‘Don’t fill her head with nonsense,’ she said. ‘Only a fool would marry for love. Anyone with any sense uses her head when it comes to marriage—chooses someone with a bit of character; someone with good solid qualities.’

I think she was referring to Syl and this was enough to make me blink, apart from the fact that what she said had absolutely nothing to do with what I’d been saying.

‘People don’t sleep with people because of their good solid qualities,’ I said, also with seeming irrelevance. (Monica doubtless thought of herself as having good solid qualities and no one was sleeping with her.) I was glad to see that this had annoyed her. She said nothing. I thought it was high time I dropped the discussion before I really put my foot in it. ‘We’re off to town,’ I said. ‘I’m taking Margaret, too.’ At the moment I didn’t want to be alone with Robert. He was clearly still displeased with me. Quite unjustifiably, in my view, but there you are. Men take offence at the slightest thing.

‘I don’t really want to go out,’ said Margaret.

‘Oh yes you do,’ said her mother. ‘It’ll do you good.’ She was leaping at the chance of a day’s respite from her daughter. She looked determined.

‘What’ll you wear?’ I asked Margaret hastily before she could argue.

‘She can wear her grey tweed,’ said Monica, beginning to gather up the breakfast plates.

‘I’ll go and look in her wardrobe,’ I said. ‘I like looking in other people’s wardrobes.’ It was true. I sometimes had a dream that I’d been given a house and I went through all the rooms, along the verandas, looking in other people’s wardrobes and chests of drawers. The trouble with this dream was that in the centre of the house lay a vast palm-shaded courtyard and I was never permitted in there. Not ever. It belonged to somebody else. Poor Lili. Oh well.

Margaret’s clothes were what you’d expect, but I lent her a jumper of my own and some scent. With a dash of make-up she didn’t look too dull. She had a kind of distinction—almost. If she’d concentrated she could have looked rather beautiful, but I was in a hurry and had no time just then to start on artistic endeavours. I could have made her look quite different—but then, what was the point? I’d have got no thanks for it. Besides, why should I create a beauty? I was the beauty here. Who needs two? I was ashamed of this thought. Selfish; unworthy of me. I made Monica lend Margaret her pearls and gave a little lecture on the power of dress.