All in a moment. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. ‘You mean that there is a rival Melusine to the one he has heard about? He does not. I’m so glad you’re not angry. I tell you, that girl would jump into the sea, rather.
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