. ’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. "I was merely about to observe that I am in possession of her secret. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. " He was delighted to find the office deserted. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. But men are so careless, there's no trusting anything to them! However, I must try to brazen it out.
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