Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage.
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