Then Melusine is in truth your granddaughter. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. “Would they make her Queen?” She asked innocently. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition.
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