Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded.
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