‘You are mad, if you think he will give you a sou. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. But this I cannot do. They got in my mouth. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. Now I ain’t saying as how that there Pottiswick—’ ‘How you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently.
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