On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. Although Melusine had taken care to trouble herself about the hand she had cut, and was glad to find it healing very well. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. CHAPTER III.
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