Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ‘I suppose this is the cavalier you had with you when you—er—attended the ball the other night?’ ‘Jacques is very useful to me,’ Melusine confirmed, bestowing that same radiant smile on the young man, whose features were instantly suffused with scarlet. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. “I’ve got bad faults. “I know nothing whatever of his friends or his home. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes.
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