The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left.
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