’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. ‘Now see here, missie. Nigel, do you know that I have been very jealous?” He avoided the invitation of her eyes. You know that I am practically destitute, without means or any certain knowledge of where my next meal is coming from. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. ” “All these things,” he muttered bitterly, “this desperate resolve to take your life into your own hands, your unnatural craving for independence, would never trouble you for a moment—if you really cared. .
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