“Mrs. Morton is paid to do what I want!” the Countess snapped. “And it is correct, although you may not know it, for you to have somebody with you when tradespeople are calling.”

As Honora gave a little sigh, her aunt swept away looking as beautiful as ever, but her anger seemed to linger on the air long after she had gone.

By the time the dinner party was about to begin Honora thought she was almost too tired to enjoy it, and she was also feeling nervous at seeing the Duke again.

By what seemed almost a miracle the gown that her aunt wanted her to wear arrived just half-an-hour before the guests were due to arrive and it was without doubt the most beautiful gown Honora had ever thought of owning.

It was white, but not the rather dull unimaginative white of a young girl’s dress.

Instead, because she was to be married, it was embroidered all over with tiny silver leaves and the bertha had the same design in silver and pearls.

When she was dressed, Honora stared at herself in the mirror, feeling that she looking like the Princess in a Fairytale.

Then, as if a shadow was cast over her reflection, she remembered that where she was concerned the Prince Charming had no wish to marry her!

He was, in fact, resenting it and she knew that, even if he was not beside her, she would feel it instinctively all through the evening.

This proved to be true, for while the Duke was being outwardly very pleasant to her relations she could feel vibrations coming from him which told her exactly what he was really feeling.

She had always been aware that everybody had vibrations that they sent out like little rays and ever since she had been a child she had known what other people were feeling and sometimes what they were thinking.

“Why does Papa dislike that lady who came to luncheon today?” she had asked once when she was quite small.

Her mother had looked at her in consternation.

“Did Papa tell you that?” she enquired.

Honora shook her head.

“No, but I could feel him hating her as we sat at the table, although I don’t think she knew.”

“I am sure she did not!” her mother exclaimed. “I think, dearest, you are mistaken.”

But she had known that Honora had been right and afterwards she said to her husband,

“We must be careful what we say and do in front of Honora. The child has an almost uncanny perception in knowing what we are feeling.”

Harry Lang had laughed.

“She will find that a very useful gift when she grows older,” he said, “but I am not allowing you any guesses, my darling, as to what I feel about you.”

He had kissed her mother and she had forgotten about Honora for the moment, but, as her daughter grew older, she sometimes consulted her.

“That Governess who came to see us today and is to teach you French – did you like her, dearest?” she enquired on one occasion.