It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. "A storm!" exclaimed the landlord. "But you are a good man, and you'll understand. Do you know that he is very much in love with you?” Anna smiled. 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. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing something. “He’s got good taste, you know.
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