Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. At the farther end of the Lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps; whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. Jack was in excellent spirits; and by his wit, drollery and agreeable demeanour, speedily became a great favourite with the turnkey, who allowed him every indulgence consistent with his situation. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. " By this time, the chair had been brought into the Lodge. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter.
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