She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. ‘You don’t mind if I sit down?’ She considered him a moment, her head a little on one side. ‘Get you invited to a party where the French émigrés will be present? Nothing easier, dear boy. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon.
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