He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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