Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. I suspect he has been at work upon those he has on. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing.
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