‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. Go away,’ came fretfully from Prudence Sindlesham, and Melusine heaved a sigh as she looked towards the butler, who was making his stately way to the door. He was profoundly stirred. She could tell that he was leering at her. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. I shall count it a privilege. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth.
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