There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. I have been sitting with him ever since. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. We came on here at once. I have a good memory, you perceive, Sir Rowland. ‘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. I don’t suppose a girl can tell if a man is in love with her or not in love with her.
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