‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low.
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