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’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. ‘I feared as much. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. “My dear, you have learned the hard way what happens when you do not eat. The age of this individual could not be more than twenty-one; his figure was tall, robust, and gracefully proportioned; and his clear gray eye and open countenance bespoke a frank, generous, and resolute nature. “It might be a policeman borrowing the driveway and looking out for speeders. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. Anyhow, that is how things are. ” “Wait? For what?” She replied.

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