Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. ‘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. ” He shook her diminutive hand. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand.
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