“Is that love, Papa?”
“I suppose you could call it that,” her father answered, “but love, my darling, is something that cannot be turned on like a tap. Either it is there, or it is not, and no amount of tears, words or pleas can produce it.”
Honora thought over what he had said when she was alone and had been sure that he was right.
‘Our feelings are something that cannot be forced,’ she thought, ‘and love must be the same.’
She thought now as she drove in a carriage towards Grosvenor Square that it was going to be very difficult to love Aunt Aline.
‘I must try to love her,’ she reasoned with herself, ‘because she and Uncle George are all I have left to remind me of Papa.’
When she said goodbye to Sister Benedict, who had brought her to London, and to the other pupils who were being
