Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. What’s that?” They both stood listening. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. It has been a real honeymoon trip, Annabel, for I feel that it has given me a wife. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Spurling and Marvel. A cool gray light illuminated small portions of the stone floor. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends.
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