‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. I swear it. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger.
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