She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. ‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. It was not quite the search I intended,’ he said with a touch of selfmockery as he released her, ‘but success comes in all sorts of unexpected ways. Never was there another girl like this one. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. To compare me to a starving pig. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. ‘What Frenchman would that be, missie? We ain’t let no one escape. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal.
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