Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. But she must not laugh. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly.
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