I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. ’ There was sense in what she said, Melusine was obliged to concede. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him.
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