’ ‘He said!’ Melusine uttered scornfully. This she put into the trunk. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. We must always move on. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.
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