She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. Melusine—the real Melusine—evidently did not see him immediately, for her attention was on her descent from the high vehicle. "Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford.
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