‘Good.’ He turned his glass about, looking at it with a small frown. ‘Miss Mayfield, I think I may as well warn you that you may find my sister rather . . . strange. Oh no, nothing mental; nothing, in fact, to which one could give a name. But you might think, quite wrongly, that she was unfriendly. Her manner, at times, gives that impression. She has very poor health, and her whole life has been somewhat disappointing. She is brilliantly clever; she should have had a successful career as an archaeologist. However . . . Anyway, I can assure you of this, no woman ever had a kinder heart or a more generous disposition, and if at any time when you are in Walwyk you should need to take a woman into your confidence, you couldn’t do better than to go to her. You may think this sounds like a doting brother speaking; you would be wrong. Isabel and I are fond of one another and live in tolerable accord – but you will find that the village people share my opinion.’

For lack of anything else to say – and, for some reason, with the mention of the Canon’s sister an odd kind of tension had come into the room, so that something must be said – Miss Mayfield asked:

‘Was it the ill-health which ruined her career?’

After a little pause, he said:

‘Frankly, no. That came later. On one of her expeditions something went wrong – I tell you this in confidence; we suspected an unhappy love affair. She returned home completely changed and has lived in virtual retirement ever since. She reads a great deal and, I think, writes a little: About that she is very secretive. She may very well “take to” you; she and Mrs Westleton had nothing in common, which was a pity for them both.’ He lifted his glass and drained it and set it down.