The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. “That sounds interesting. She pushed. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. But there must be an Englishman who would like to marry her to get Remenham House. ’ He turned to Melusine, ignoring the indignant protest that greeted his words. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably.
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