Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. It had been a trying day. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. ‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance.
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