“What was your mother’s name?”
“Eileen.”
“I mean her family name.”
“Fane.”
He was silent. She remained thoughtful, her chin resting between two fingers.
“Once,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself, “when my father was intoxicated, he said that Fane is my name, not Soane.... Do you know what he meant?”
“No.... His name is Soane, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, what do you suppose he meant, if he meant anything?”
“I don’t quite know.”