Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. Somehow. An extra pair of gym clothes materialized within fractions of a second. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. “You’re great, Lucy! I had no idea you were so great!” John exclaimed. On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. ‘Now then, my girl, why the long face?’ Melusine had no hesitation in placing her trouble before her old nurse, for it was Martha who had made her aware of her true history.
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