Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. Montressor’s guests were. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room.
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