A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. "A drunken idea," said Ah Cum, taking his hands out of his sleeves. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions.
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