CHAPTER XVIII. Melusine, intent on the luckless Kimble, did not care. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. " "You may spare me your compassion, friend," observed Thames; "I am falsely detained. Mr. On your own. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. By-the-bye,” he added, in a suddenly altered tone, “I hope, I trust—that you have not entered into any arrangements with any one here?” “I—oh no!” Anna said, a little faintly.
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