"Why not?" "I'll tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. Rhea commanded her. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. I didn’t get it, why she put on the innocent act. Moving to the shuttered window, Melusine dragged the heavy drapes back. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. I do not care in the least. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. Hill,” she said graciously. “They have all been trying to turn my head.
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