I had vaguely gathered from Miss Churchill that she was regarded as a sister of mine, that she had, with wealth inherited from a semi-fabulous Australian uncle, revived the glories of my aunt's house.

I had never denied it, because I did not want to interfere with my aunt's attempts to regain some of the family's prosperity.

It even had my sympathy to a small extent, for, after all, the family was my family too.
As a memory my pseudo-sister had been something bright and clear-cut and rather small; seen now, she was something that one could not look at for glow.

She moved toward me, smiling and radiant, as a ship moves beneath towers of shining canvas.

I was simply overwhelmed.