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’ Melusine was beginning to fill with dread and a burgeoning of anger as the meaning behind his words began to penetrate. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. Then he sensed the trap. “Can you not understand? It is of no use your taking my identity and all the burden of my iniquities upon your dear shoulders if I am to be recognized the moment I show my face in London. .
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