Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. Charity for the ragtag and the bobtail of the Seven Seas, and none for his own flesh and blood. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand.
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