Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. I can’t help it. She had told him, point blank, that since the Church had neither annulled the first marriage nor sanctified the second one, she was not his wife.
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