Then Capes’ footsteps approached. " She showed him the locket; and he studied the face. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. ‘You can’t prove nothing. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant.
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