She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement. “It was perhaps my fault. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism. He declined to come in. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. Know that, don’t you?’ ‘Of course I know it,’ Lucy told him, and Melusine read the whisper in her mouth of those precious words, ‘I love you. Don’t think I can’t sympathize and understand.
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