The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. She rose to the fire to stoke it. A check arrives in Batavia every three months. After all—’ ‘Yes, but I do not wish to see him,’ Melusine protested. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair.
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