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Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. Why are you doing all this?’ To his surprise, Melusine relaxed back, emitting a laugh that sounded perfectly genuine. "Good Lord!—cannibals?" "Aye. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. Under the circumstances you must permit me to be the best judge of the identity of the young lady who did me the honour, as an old family friend, of dining with me. God bless you, anyhow!" she added, with a spontaneity which surprised Sister Angelina into uttering an individual gasp. Michelle was only a junior, the same year as herself. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. ‘All so long ago and my memory ain’t what it was. You are somebody’s secretary, are you not?” It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison, although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at once discard it.
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