“The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. It's kind of comforting to have you there. ” John gestured. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum—that thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you—” He held out his hands, and she also stood up. She cursed herself for a fool.
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