Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. ‘Well, sir, if I’ve to choose betwixt him and you, I’ll take you, no question. I’ve muddled all this business. And it had not shocked her! It was this appalling absence of indignation that had put terror into her heart. I only wish he was not a Papist and a Jacobite. ’ ‘Melusine, did you say?’ Mrs Sindlesham sighed. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. Wild's dwelling without apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction. "I give you one minute for reflection. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. Like the flaws of an old marble. I have given up painting. I secured the dog after he had wounded me.
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