‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. ’ Melusine glared. Manning’s handwriting had an air of being clear without being easily legible; it was large and rather roundish, with a lack of definition about the letters and a disposition to treat the large ones as liberal-minded people nowadays treat opinions, as all amounting to the same thing really—a yearssmoothed boyish rather than an adult hand. "I'm my own master now, and I'll do as I please. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume.
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