” She understood what he was saying, that now it would be all right to marry Lettice. Nicholas, his shirt unbuttoned to the waist, a cigar clamped between his strong teeth, sat behind a table that looked as though it might break under the weight of the food on it. The sense of accomplishment that had sustained her since she’d left the sixteenth century was leaving her. Ignoring the greeting of the woman at the desk, she ran up the stairs.
“Was that meant to amuse me?” she asked, glaring down at Dougless. He was running to the post-office stone under which he had buried the six letters addressed to Java. Honoria walked along the gravel path on the edge of the orchard to a grape arbor. Lucy was waiting for her by the fountain, and after Dougless had showered, they rehearsed their vaudeville act.
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