I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. Ann Veronica looked bright and a little elated, and she disregarded her father’s invitation to be seated. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. ‘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 young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he moved neither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections.
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