He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. “She has gone down into the country. I wanted the magic of love. They had a universe to talk about—two universes. He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own. ‘And what the devil do you mean by demanding that I wait on you here? D’you think I haven’t enough to do handling that caper-witted female’s affairs, without dancing attendance on you?’ ‘Don’t be cross,’ begged Lucilla, much to Melusine’s disgust.
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