Melusine jumped up, turning swiftly. ‘No. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters.
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