Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. ’ Melusine rose from her chair in sudden irritation. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous.
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