A rare moment of amusement lightened Melusine’s mood for a moment. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. " "'Zounds!" cried the executioner, in astonishment.
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