Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. Melusine feigned a displeased frown. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. And of course! She had a brilliant idea. ‘I think you know my affianced husband. ” She breathed an inner sigh of relief.
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