She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. A rare moment of amusement lightened Melusine’s mood for a moment. CHAPTER IV. ‘But a spy I am not. Good night. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas.
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