Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. Melusine seized her chance. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. In this state, he contrived to get the poor black's hand into his mouth, and nearly bit off one of his fingers before the sufferer could be rescued. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. . Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head.
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