She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. It generalized everything she put to it. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek.
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