‘He was very kind to me. The evil in his eyes towards her was explosive. ’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little.
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