Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. He sat down. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. The figure she had longed to see came into her line of vision, but at this crucial moment of hideous realisation, Melusine barely took it in, her eyes fixing blankly on the man behind. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square. Of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. But it would be too risky. ‘Just what I was going to tell you, miss. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. "Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains.
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