“But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help. She followed the official back into his room. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. ‘But you said she was looking for proof. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. This costume, though somewhat extravagant, displayed his slight, but perfectly-proportioned figure to the greatest advantage.
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