Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. ‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. ” He said. ’ She spread her hands. We're to be given a treat to-night. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. He was a just man, and he did not care to start any thunder which was not based upon fairness. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake.
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