Melusine had confessed this morning, that she had borrowed his horse, that Jack had met with his accident through her fault. She spotted her opportunity. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination.
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