But those days are over—quite over. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his.
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