“It couldn’t be. Sheila, a normally sound sleeper, woke one night to find both her husband and her foster daughter had snuck from their beds, and this infuriated her. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. We married, and for a time we were happy. " "I'm a queer girl," she replied with a smile. ” “I believe you,” she murmured. In the early hours of the morning, unable to bear the suspense any longer, Melusine had ventured to explore the mansion, the lantern she had brought in hand, commenting to herself all the time on the state of the place and the difficulties of her task, and having no idea of the consequences she was bringing on herself thereby. No offence, I hope.
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