The thought made her exquisitely happy. ‘A thing Marthe told me of,’ Melusine answered, her attention on the garments that were still lying higgledy-piggledy, just as she had left them. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine. ” He would say every time she wore it.
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