What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. ‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Glancing swiftly towards the doorway, Gerald saw his friend’s disbelieving face and burst out, speaking over the top of Melusine as she made another grab for the little square of linen. “That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. ’ ‘You know, Gerald,’ Lucilla put in thoughtfully, forestalling a withering rejoinder from the captain, ‘there may be something in that. ’ ‘Do you care to test that theory?’ Gerald suggested easily. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged.
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