"There were some marks near the window; but whether recently made or not could not be ascertained," replied Winifred. ‘You know what I am about,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object.
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