‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. She called them back very soon. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. Gosse had to release his clamp on her mouth, for the awkwardness of the position made it impossible to negotiate the little stair.
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