You can't do it when father's not at home." Jewdwine repressed a smile.

Even now, from the windows of the east wing, there burst, suddenly, the sound of fiddling, a masterly fiddling inspired by infernal passion, controlled by divine technique.
It was his uncle, Sir Frederick, and he wished him at the devil.

If all accounts were true, Sir Frederick, when not actually fiddling, was going there with a celerity that left nothing to be desired; he was, if you came to think of it, a rather amazing sort of chaperone.
And yet, but for that fleeting and tumultuous presence, Horace himself would not be staying at Court House.

Really, he reflected.

Lucia ought to get some lady to live with her.