‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in.
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