After a while he spoke again. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur. ’ The dimple that so fascinated Melusine peeped in her great-aunt’s cheek. Could you pull over? She asked. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. After that consolations fled. ‘And you!’ shrieked Melusine. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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