. ’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. This one too she read. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. I just don’t know where to start. And even if that,’ she added bitterly, ‘he must be also a person of a disposition extremely mad, that he can go against the family.
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