She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. But I will disappoint you. You’re dealing with me now, not Gerald. He might miss at this distance. She wedged the towel between her legs. By a sort of instinct. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner.
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