It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. Suddenly she understood. It was during Martin’s Violin Concerto that she was extraordinary. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. Quick, now. ‘I wonder why the females of my acquaintance have absolutely no respect whatsoever for male authority?’ ‘Ha!’ came from Hilary. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Me, I have a question for you first. “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen. Walking to the station with him.
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