Cathy Beck was outraged. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. Ah Cum before the day was over, slyly baiting him. “Look after her! Why not? But you have done it all your life. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. ‘It must have been so, Melusine, or I wouldn’t have kissed you. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, uncomfortably.
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