He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. Everything was going to hell. “My dear Anna,” he answered. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather. ‘Melusine!’ Distracted, Gosse blinked and his eyes flicked away from Melusine’s just as she flung the fullness of her gathered petticoats in the way of his blade. The key is in my trousers. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left.
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