Sheila, a normally sound sleeper, woke one night to find both her husband and her foster daughter had snuck from their beds, and this infuriated her. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, and a club-house for cards and billiards. Á bientot—Melusine. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. But native! She must watch out. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something.
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