‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. But, be like a son to her. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet.
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