It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. He laughed suddenly, and released her. He had forgiven everybody. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. ’ Melusine giggled. I daresay that is one of the names of the nuns in your convent. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen.
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