’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. I’ve got imagination. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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