"Your servant, Sir Rowland," said the stranger, ducking his head, as he advanced. But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. ‘And what the devil do you mean by demanding that I wait on you here? D’you think I haven’t enough to do handling that caper-witted female’s affairs, without dancing attendance on you?’ ‘Don’t be cross,’ begged Lucilla, much to Melusine’s disgust.
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