. . Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. ’ ‘Are you off your head? Think I don’t know you’re up to some mischief or other?’ Melusine feigned innocence. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely.
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