His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back.
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