“Lucy, I have to talk to you. Miss Klegg raised the question of women’s suffrage, and he set himself to provoke a duel between her and Miss Garvice. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. White became conscious of a distinct sense of uneasiness, and showed it in her face. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. “Great!” Cathy squealed.
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