” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use for a cavalier. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. It was then, I am sure, empty. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished.
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