She laughed. I could picture it. She has a wide face, made for delight, and high eyebrows that seem always to be startled. If she were not so warm, she might seem supercilious, but there is nothing in her that is not genuinely interested in people. I told her, haltingly, what I wanted, and asked whether it might be possible, at her convenience. She had not been present for the row, but she would know of it by family osmosis, and she would recognise the game she was being asked to play. I relayed my conversation with her father, and his optimism—and my determination to exceed him, at which she laughed once more. I imagined her rolling her eyes, and asked if she would help me.