Lucy's ears were singing. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. She was alone with a deadly enemy. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. Martha had been careful to make no mention of Melusine, and did not reply to Mrs Ibstock’s enquiry about the fate of the little babe. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly.
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