’ ‘I see now how it was that Marthe knew of the secret passage,’ Melusine said. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. He would know her address to-morrow. He declined to come in. Too late. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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