’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. ’ Melusine sighed in a satisfied way. Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. He nodded. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy. E. CHAPTER V.
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