“May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. Folks don’t like ’em.
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