The next morning came a compact letter from her father. ’ ‘I am going to England,’ Melusine stated flatly, ‘because there is no safety at the convent at Blaye. Gives you a right to hang on to the old man until he busts—practically. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter.
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