And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. Her teachers and mistresses had done their best to stamp her mind with an ineradicable persuasion that it was tremendously important, and on no account to be thought about. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Even now she was dazed.
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