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walked back. And you're also
    reminding me that this isn't really my room any more. That it
    belongs to you, like everything else here, and that I'm only
    occupying it on sufferance. As if I could forget that, even for a
    moment! I just—hoped that you wouldn't insist.
    Her hand was shaking as she turned the handle and pushed open
    the door, fumbling for the light switch. Every step he'd taken in
    this house was an invasion of privacy, but this was the worst of all.
    She had always slept in this room, from being a small child. Her
    whole life was laid out here for anyone to see. At a casual glance,
    Lyall could find out anything he wanted to know—could see the
    books, from childhood fairy tales to modern novels, which
    crammed the bulging bookcase—the worn teddy bear still
    occupying a place of honour on the narrow window seat—even the
    scent she used, standing on her dressing table, and her nightdress
    folded on the small single bed with its virginal white candlewick
    coverlet.
    As it was, his glance was far from casual. He walked into the
    centre of the room and stood there, his hands buried deep into the
    pockets of the black leather coat he hadn't bothered to remove.
    And he took everything in, while Morgana waited in the doorway,
    feeling as humiliated as if she'd been forced to strip naked in front
    of him.
    It was deliberate, she knew that. Next time and every time that she
    entered this room, he intended her to remember his presence there,
    his scrutiny covering all her most personal possessions, lingering
    on the narrowness of the bed, while a half-smile played about his
    mouth which she had not the slightest difficulty in interpreting.
    She thought, .Damn you!' and was aghast to see his smile widen,
    and realise she had spoken her thought aloud.
    He said softly, 'It's nice to know, darling, that one's efforts are
    appreciated.'
    She said, 'When you've finished your—inventory, I'll be in the
    corridor.'
    He joined her there almost immediately. 'I have to admire your
    choice of sanctuary,' he observed rather mockingly. 'I imagine that
    in daylight, the view from the window is quite spectacular.'
    'Yes—you can see the sea from all the first floor windows on this
    side.' Her voice sounded stilted.
    'And I presume that the eyes I can feel watching me along this
    gallery are those of our mutual ancestors?'
    'Yes,' she agreed resignedly.
    'Are they not included in the guided tour?'
    She shrugged. 'As you pointed out, they are our mutual ancestors.
    You probably know as much as I do.'
    He said softly, 'And you know that isn't the truth. So suppose you
    tell me about them.'
    There was a note in his voice which sent little prickles of
    apprehension running along her skin, like a storm warning. There
    was a brief, crackling silence, then she said, 'Very well. The man
    on your left is Josiah Pentreath. He built most of this house at the
    height of the tin-mining industry, but it's always been reckoned he
    built the stables out of his profits from smuggling. He had two
    sons, Mark and Giles—they're over there. Giles didn't just follow
    in his father's footsteps, he overtook him. This has always been a
    bad coast for wrecks, and Giles is popularly supposed to have done
    his share in encouraging them. He's one of the Pentreath black
    sheep. Mark, on the other hand, was converted to Methodism by
    John Wesley.' She paused, then said, 'Mark and Giles—and Martin
    too—• have always been Pentreath names.'
    She didn't have to add, 'But Lyall isn't.'
    He said, 'I was named for my mother's family. You can hardly
    blame my father for dispensing with family tradition under the
    circumstances.'
    Her voice lacked expression. 'I suppose not. Anyway, those rather
    downtrodden-looking ladies you see are their respective wives.'
    He said almost sharply, 'She doesn't look downtrodden at all.'
    'Which one are you looking at?' Morgana peered. 'Oh, I didn't
    mean that one. She's my grandmother.'
    'Not one of the mutual ancestors,' he