Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. Jack and his comrade went to the Mint, where he was joined by Edgeworth Bess, with whom he sat down most unconcernedly to supper. "Is she returned!" "Y—e—s, Sir Rowland," stammered Charcam. Guns were impossible. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. Her heart's in the right place, at all events; and, since that's the case, the rest may perhaps come round, —that is, if she gets through her present illness. ‘So it was.
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