‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of.
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