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’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. There was a flash and a loud report. “He naturally does not wish for connexions which are—I do not wish to hurt you feelings, Anna, but I must say it—not altogether desirable. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently. She had no intention of fighting fair. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall.
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