We returned to Vernon the following February. Clouds smothered the valley and the snow melted a little each day until any brightness was gone and all we were left with was grey and brown. We attempted to cheer Ofelia, Sveva with her plays and theatrics, piano and voice recitals, but it was the duke who succeeded most often in bolstering her. Sometimes he would sit her on his lap like a girl while they played cards. Other times, he would stroke her hair while she sat in front of the fire. Once, when we were all in the parlour, he pretended that his large hand was a kitten; he raised his voice into a feminine mew and moved his hand in quick, skittish movements, alighting on Ofelia and leaping off again and again until she collapsed into giggles, her mouth arced open, body shaking. Sveva stoo
