"You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. He stepped out but, rather to his surprise, found Melusine following him. Mischief bubbled up in her. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well. It was Celeste’s idea. But ——” A look checked him.
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