’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. John picked it up and put it in her hands. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. ’ Melusine edged a little away from the portrait. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. ’ ‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. ‘Not care? For this he must be an Englishman tout à fait sympathique, and— and I know only. They’re in grad school and they both live in New York. But it's an odd case. There he was, standing with a group of men who she presumed to be the other richest men in the world.
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