She recalled that she had heard nothing that first time when Gerald and the captain had burst in upon her. “Difficulties indeed. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. He cried out but his father only waved 280 like an automaton until the apparition disappeared. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. One reason, perhaps, of his success in this case might be, that having arrested his associate in the dark transaction, Sir Rowland Trenchard, on a charge of high treason, he was favoured by Walpole, who found his account in retaining such an agent.
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