The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. . It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Jack looked towards the door. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. ’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. She was furiously angry. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine.
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