"Well, Sanchia," he said, "here I am."
[Illustration: "Well, Sanchia," he said. "Here I am."]
VIII
The scattered party was suddenly strung to tensity; Morosine drew himself
up, stiff as steel, but stood his ground. Here was the man he had waited
for, who was necessary to him. Lady Maria, blinking her little black eyes,
Melusine, with hers in a blur of mist, Gerald Scales, level and impassive,
joined the other three.
Ingram, with a stretched smile, was volubly explaining. "I've been in
London a week--to-day's the first glimpse of the sun I've had. I do think
they might make better arrangements for a man home from Africa. I met your
mother last night at a play. She told me that I might see you here." He
turned, without effrontery, to greet Melusine. "Ages since we have met.
Ah, Scales, how are you?"
The tall Melusine stooped her head; Scales nodded, then, by an
afterthought, shook hands. "I'm very fit, thanks," he said. "Been
travelling?"
Sanchia sought the side of Lady Maria, to whom she named Ingram. His
exaggerated bow was accepted. "So you've arrived, I see," said Lady Maria.
"One does, you know." Ingram shrugged at the inevitable. "All roads lead
to Rome.
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