‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. She found herself trying on the baubles he brought home, placing the silver rings upon her slim fingers, knowing that he would take up her hand and kiss it. Entranced, he stared at the name. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. “But I’m afraid you are going to be in a hopeless minority here as regards me. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be.
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