Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. CHAPTER XVI. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. Arrived within a short distance of his destination, he came to a halt, and pointing out a dark court nearly opposite the woollen-draper's abode, told the chairmen to wait there till they were summoned. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question. Proof that the scoundrel had risen from the dead—for he was dead to his father! He glared at the female whose appearance in England had revived those painful memories—churning unbearably since Brewis Charvill had brought him the news and put him in the worst of tempers—and the fury spilled out. Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. He did not notice that Ann Veronica was preoccupied and heavy-eyed. A hansom stopped a little way off.
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