” The girl nodded. Wood, disdainfully. ’ ‘Miss Melusine Charvill,’ he repeated, ‘is a convent-bred genteel girl, who is in all probability the granddaughter of General Lord Charvill. ” His voice rose and fell amidst the music and the singing of Tristan and King Mark, like a voice heard in a badly connected telephone. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected.
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