’ ‘I thought you were dead,’ Melusine confided. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears.
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