The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. ‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. How clever she was, to fool everybody so easily! Not yet had any one suspected the truth: that she was, in a certain worldly sense, only four weeks old, that her every act had been written down on paper beforehand, and that her success lay in rigidly observing the rules which she herself had drafted to govern her conduct. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. Larry would be up soon.
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