She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. “To begin with, I was—I was in the divorce court. ‘Couldn’t reconcile it with my dooty to leave you here—’ A thought made Melusine stop dead, turning to him. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. ” With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. The discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother.
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