In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. He reached for her chin and lifted it up.
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