Some one was standing beside him. ‘I suppose this is the cavalier you had with you when you—er—attended the ball the other night?’ ‘Jacques is very useful to me,’ Melusine confirmed, bestowing that same radiant smile on the young man, whose features were instantly suffused with scarlet. People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. Under another name,—not my own hateful one,—I will strive to distinguish myself in some foreign service, and win myself a reputation, or perish honourably. I only wish he was not a Papist and a Jacobite.
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