" "May be," returned the man gravely. Chapter Four Two days later, it was quite another Melusine who confronted a young lad on a sunny morning, at variance with her bleak mood. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. There must be ways of getting rid of him. As pretty as its owner. ‘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. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest.
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