. . “She is living there now,” she remarked. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. “You did not tell me that you were going out, or I would have offered my escort. ‘A thing Marthe told me of,’ Melusine answered, her attention on the garments that were still lying higgledy-piggledy, just as she had left them. Stanley was throughout enigmatical, with an anxious eye on her husband and Alice. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. But when it came to broaching them, it proved to be much more difficult than she had supposed. She trembled; but she did not know why.
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