Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. "Keep off, you accursed jade!" roared Jonathan, "—off, I say, or—" And he struck her a violent blow with his clenched hand. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions.
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