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“She laughed. ‘My dear Carlo, compliments even now aren’t quite so rare that I don’t recognise them, believe me. Thank you, Miss Martin, that was sweet of you.’ Her eyes as she smiled at me were friendly, almost warm, and for the first time since I had met her I saw charm in her – not the easy charm of the vivid personality, but the real and irresistible charm that reaches out halfway to meet you, assuring you that you are wanted and liked. And heaven knew I needed that assurance … I was very ready to meet any gesture, however slight, with the response of affection. Perhaps at last … But even as I smiled back at her it happened again. The warmth drained away as if wine had seeped from a crack and left the glass empty, a cool and misted shell, reflecting nothing. She turned away to pick up her embroidery.” — Mary Stewart