‘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. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight.
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