He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner. He had hired not one but two engineers to record the event, subsidized entirely out of his own meager pocket. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question.
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