Diving towards it, he tried to press against the rivulet that was seeping from it, hampered mightily by Melusine’s fingers, which were grasping at his other hand. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence. They had both been unsuccessful. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. All he will say is that she said so—as if anyone could believe a word the girl said.
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