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Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. ’ Melusine gave it up. “I was hoping to be able to secure a few minutes’ conversation with you, Miss Pellissier. ” Courtlaw laughed hardly. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. . Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance.

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