I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. “I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. Besides these, there was a sturdylooking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at Tottenham. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. I love you all the more for the streak of sheer devil in you. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits.
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