‘And me—’ ‘You, mademoiselle, are more trouble than you’re worth, and I’ll thank you to —’ ‘Hilary, don’t,’ said Lucy, and Melusine’s rising temper cooled a little. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. She came into the room. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder.
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