Lucy was a hard worker and a good cook and because of those traits she and Sheila had gotten along most of the time. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. But he had been forewarned by his great-nephew. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. She addressed Capes as though she spoke to him alone. That suggested delicacy; and yet her young body was strong and vital. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. I’m sorry to disappoint you. “Read this, John.
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