‘Precisely,’ agreed Gerald. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. ‘You know?’ ‘Come, come, Melusine. I’ll try to stay as long as I can.
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