Mrs. She went across to the little window again, her back to Melusine. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. ’ Before she could object, Melusine found herself hustled back into the house and dragged willy-nilly towards the library door, where Jack called softly. Chapter XVII THE CHANGE IN “ALCIDE” “By-the-bye,” his neighbour asked him languidly, “who is our hostess?” “Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison answered, “unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wrong house.
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