“It’s all nonsense of course,” Lady Montague commented between bites of her cucumber sandwich. “All this thinking about space and what we can’t see.”

Sheila set down her cup, gently, but it did make the tiniest of clink sounds. “But isn’t it wonderful to think about? What lies between stars?”

“Young lady,” old Mrs. Winterburn snapped. “Your job is to create more Lord Wilsons. Not consider the workings of the universe. Pass the shrimp salad, please.”

Sheila cast her eyes down toward her little plate of teatime confections. I’ve done it again, she thought. I’ll never fit in with these ladies. But I’ve no choice.

“Of course,” Sheila said. Her gloved hand reached out for the shrimp salad.

Maybe what exists between the stars, she thought, depends on how well you can see.