She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. ‘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. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly.
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