God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. Ramage demurred. "You're mistaken, Winny. The unequal battle went on. ‘And me—’ ‘You, mademoiselle, are more trouble than you’re worth, and I’ll thank you to —’ ‘Hilary, don’t,’ said Lucy, and Melusine’s rising temper cooled a little. “You need have no further trouble. He was damned if he knew what to do. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. ‘What are you after this time, miss?’ asked Jack. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said.
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