“With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. ’ He paused, but Melusine caught the inference. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. She glanced into his face. ‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing.
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