She caught the fact that it was something more than strong drink that laid you out. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. She was an Egyptian, from the magical times. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy.
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