" "Who is he?" asked Thames impatiently. "Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. ’ Melusine hardly dared believe she had heard him aright. She had exposed the real story behind Peters tragedy, that dark, handsome Chuck had killed himself by leaving the car running in the garage, not from a “heart attack” as 111 claimed the party line. The truth was impossible, indecent. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. . She leaned back in her chair. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. “Well?” she said.
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