She looked at her for a moment fixedly. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. The room in which she sat was a portion of the garret, assigned, as we have just stated, by Mr. wonderful. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. “You are positively eloquent to-night—both of you,” she declared. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me.
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