Melusine flung herself down the rest of the steps and through the doorway. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. He felt that he was getting on with her very slowly indeed, but he did not see how he could get on faster. Critically, she stared at her own features. ‘Do not beg my pardon. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers.
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