’ Madame Valade reseated herself, and Gerald set himself to flatter her into relaxation again. She was quite unconcerned. ‘French? But what else?’ ‘I do not like Frenchmen,’ Melusine snapped. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. . She stared at him. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. You’re mine. She has not been accused of any crime.
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