The rejection caught him like a slap in the face. ‘What are you going to do now, child?’ Melusine sighed away the last of her distress. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. He hasn't found himself, as they say. Your husband could have told you that. I’ll have it out with him. Clarice was from Lombardy, fair-haired and light skinned. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another.
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