Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She continued to fan herself. A slow heavy thumping started up in Melusine’s chest, and she scarcely took in the astonished silence in those present in the room. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. " "Well, well, since you desire it, I'll say no more," returned Wood.
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