Courtlaw stood up. ‘This is not love, Marthe. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. But he reckoned without his host. Little did he know that she had begged her parents as a youngster to get her a language tutor. “Your father, of course,” he said, “must come to realize just how Splendid you are! He doesn’t understand. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. The three clerks fought for the only window, and saw her whisked into a hansom. When he found himself thinking about it, it upset him so that he at once resorted to distraction. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing. ‘What would you? The nuns they would not believe me, and so it was not possible for me to stay. May I ask the nature of your interest in her?” He hesitated.
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