Sebastian was always a man who felt the need to surround himself with the trappings of the finer life. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. With the immediate necessities in train, Melusine fell to brooding on her situation, which she found insupportable.
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