She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. The coconut plantation covered the west side. Finally she fell into reflection. Her patience was waning fast. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. At least until we graduate. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender.
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