“What do you mean?” Lucy asked. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. Balked, Melusine halted. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. ‘That is better, no?’ ‘Dieu. “It’s—it’s a difficult question. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell.
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