As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. "Davies," said Rowland, delivering the babe, with a meaning look, to his attendant. Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. Courtlaw sat with folded arms. Marvel, therefore, remained on his probation. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel.
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