Melusine—the real Melusine—evidently did not see him immediately, for her attention was on her descent from the high vehicle. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. Only a book detective could dope this out. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. ” “Oh, you mean Mr. "I forbid you to do that.
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