‘Again you seek to interfere in my affairs?’ ‘I did warn you I had every intention of doing so,’ said Gerald. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. Spurlock—for that's his real name—were married at high noon. Its parents have perished. Go out there and head him off, will you? Tell him anything you like, but don’t let him in, and don’t tell him Melusine is here. If only we are not divided. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family.
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