" CHAPTER XIV. ‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant.
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