The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. You had better go to bed. She won’t be a problem from now on. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. But a biddable girl. “It might be a policeman borrowing the driveway and looking out for speeders. Because every mistake you make, for every new mishap, Joe, I take a finger. You make yourself charming for help. How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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