“Won’t you have some more tea, Mr. This whole affair is truly my fault. Kneebone said, just now. She felt the softest touch caress her cheek, and a wave of tenderness engulfed Melusine. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me.
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