Leaving the panel wide, Melusine dashed to the library door and flung it open, racing into the hall. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. " "I liked that, too," she replied; "but it wasn't that I had in mind. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. Her name was Rhea.
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