Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. Easily. A slow heavy thumping started up in Melusine’s chest, and she scarcely took in the astonished silence in those present in the room. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. ‘It is nothing. This mitigated her remorse enormously.
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