She was nearly too giddy still to answer him. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. “And I’m not happy. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. It was a haunted place. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. They stopped talking, except to each other. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. ’ ‘But what age are you? Do you not require an heir?’ Melusine asked, her tone shocked. “I’ll be hanged if I do. But you——” Something seemed to catch his breath.
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