Here again instinct guided her. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. ‘All these soldiers,’ she complained, adding with a sweep of one arm at the major’s dress, ‘all of them in red as you. Anyhow, that is how things are. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. ’ ‘But you are not a surgeon,’ protested Melusine. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them.
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