“Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. ‘Because he knows you for an imposter,’ Melusine flashed. Let this be a caution to you in future—with whom, and about what you deal. I wonder whether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall,” he went on, with a sudden glance at her, “if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great deal more of what she was like then, except of course that your complexion and colouring are altogether different. One night she apparently fell asleep. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage.
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