He could scarcely blame her. Having ascertained by the breathing which room Thames occupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in. But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head. “Ann Veronica,” he said. Diane Vorsack was a disaster waiting for a place to happen, with a heartily established dislike for the Beck clan. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. I will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. Consternation gripped him. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman.
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