. . Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. ‘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. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography.
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