Stanley’s acquaintance in the train and shown him one or two trifling civilities. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. The other must call a coach as quickly as he can.
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