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The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. “I do not suppose he will be home till late. ’ Annoyance sent Melusine leaping to her feet. Then he paused.
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