Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. I don’t believe in the faults. 256 Lucy chose her words carefully. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. ‘Not at all ladylike. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message. But that title he would not endure. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir.
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