\" Lucy replied. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Melusine’s eyes shifted. She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay. ’ Impatience overtook Melusine’s resolve momentarily. ’ ‘Tchah! Better a doubtful welcome here than a confounded French convent. She felt like a dried-up old woman. Rousing himself, he went to the door.
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