At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. Above the housetops it was different. But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Melusine was unable to repulse him—even had she tried. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly.
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