Go out there and head him off, will you? Tell him anything you like, but don’t let him in, and don’t tell him Melusine is here. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap.
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