It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. Solomon Smith received something very like a rebuff. ‘I suppose this is the cavalier you had with you when you—er—attended the ball the other night?’ ‘Jacques is very useful to me,’ Melusine confirmed, bestowing that same radiant smile on the young man, whose features were instantly suffused with scarlet. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go.
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