Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. ’ Melusine found her tongue. “You are neither of you in the least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes. Well, this was the side of the world where things like that happened. ’ ‘But if I am with you, as André Valade, as your husband, an émigré—’ ‘Pah!’ Melusine spat. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet.
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