‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. . ’ ‘Back?’ Melusine put a hand to her aching temple. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. ‘Would you like me to enquire for your mystery lady, Gerald? I know the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme quite well. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. .
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