That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. Annabel was in hiding all the time. ‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. ” “You were in a difficult position,” Mr.
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