Fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street. ‘Do you think I do not know? What am I doing here, do you think?’ ‘That’s just exactly what I’ve been asking myself,’ he returned. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. ‘Yes, that is what the nuns they said of me. Wild, and his uncle, Sir Rowland Trenchard. ’ Melusine caught the fellow eyeing her with resentment and beckoned as she called out to him. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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