She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. She hesitated about her name, and, being prompted, gave it at last as Ann Veronica Smith, 107A, Chancery Lane. I HAD to. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. "Mr.
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