She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth.
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