A tall, clean-shaven man came out and walked rapidly through the room, exchanging greetings right and left, but evidently anxious to avoid being detained. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. I will go to-night. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. She twisted her fingers tightly. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits.
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