After spending time with Kitty until noon, Anthony insisted that she try to get at least a little sleep and, at Victoria's request, went with her to the children's studio to draw pictures. Victoria, the middle daughter of the Count of Cranford, a girl of ten, looked like her father: she was dark-haired and blue-eyed. She was of a calm, mild temperament, and she hardly ever gave her parents any trouble or hurt either by her actions or her speech. This girl knew that all the inheritance would go to her elder brother, for her mother reminded her of this every day, so Victoria worked hard to become a real lady. Cranford forced her daughter to spend hours playing the piano and harp, as well as learn Spanish, German and French languages, which were fluent in the parents themselves. In the future Victoria had to make a worthy match – so said her mother, and her father added that her future spouse will have to have a title not lower than viscount. Victoria tried with all her childish strength to meet the expectations of her beloved parents, but when Uncle Anthony and Grandmother Beatrice came to visit, the girl could distract herself from her daily activities and become a child again. In turn, the uncle and grandmother did everything so that this little lady could enjoy her childhood and fill her heart with warm memories.

– Uncle Anthony, when are you going to get married? – Victoria asked thoughtfully, diligently tracing a pencil on the expensive snow-white paper.

– What an interesting question, my little lady," Anthony smiled at her. He, too, was drawing, but, absorbed in thoughts of Vivian and Jeremy, was not watching his sharply sharpened pencil. – Are you curious to know? Alas, I have no answer to that question myself. But I hope I shall soon be taking a kind and nightingale-voiced girl to the wedding.

– The girl you drew? – The girl asked, and stretched out her neck to get a better view of her uncle's drawing.

Surprised by her niece's question, Anthony looked closely at his drawing and saw that the girl was right: a female figure was clearly drawn on the white paper. And it was not the figure of the fragile Vivian, whom Anthony was sure he was madly in love with. The girl in the drawing looked like Miss Charlotte Salton: high voluminous breasts, strong arms, a beautiful, somewhat puffy face, and broad dark eyebrows. On the girl's outstretched arm sat a small, graceful nightingale.

And then Anthony realised: he loved. But not Vivian, no. Not so long ago he had been ready to sacrifice his future for her, but suddenly he realised that now his heart belonged to Charlotte. The same "good fat girl", the same rich bride. The very girl whose singing made his heart sink sweetly, and whose soul was filled with sincere admiration and adoration for her talent.

"And this siren, this Danish elf, was in love with me! But I ruined everything, and now I am ready to do anything to win her heart again, so that when I asked for her hand, she would answer me with consent… And the reason for this is not her rich dowry. I don't want it. I want Charlotte and her warm, soft hands resting bashfully in mine," went through the young man's mind. The pencil froze in his hands. – But how do I win her heart? She is in love with the Duke of Nightingale! And, if she recognised my position and desire for a rich bride, Charlotte might decide that all I need is her dowry…"

– Uncle Anthony? Why are you silent? – Anthony's thoughts were interrupted by Victoria's somewhat offended voice.