Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. " And, committing Thames to the care of the watchman, he darted after the fugitive. What you did is called manslaughter, and at the worst there is only a very slight penalty, nothing to be frightened about in the least.
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