But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. “Lucy! You found me! I was just about to sleep some of those rum and Cokes off like the pig I am. I’ll protect you!” He cried. ’ ‘Yes, that is reasonable,’ agreed Melusine, nodding. . . The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. . ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. E.
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