Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor. ’ A multitude of changes flitted across Melusine’s features as she stood there for a space, unusually silent. First the passage to be negotiated. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English.
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