Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. “Take me back. Damn! I’ve splashed. Melusine tapped on it. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. Then his tiny bow mouth opened into an adoring smile. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. And because of this hanging gold Ah Cum left many doors open to doubt. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship.
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