Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. She seemed to have no idea whatever of the emotional states that were becoming to her age and position. ‘Deaf? Deaf? I’ll have you know, miss—’ ‘Do not have me know anything,’ interrupted Melusine crossly, and digging into her habit, produced the fateful dagger that had cut Gerald’s hand. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says.
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