But she was disappointed. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. ‘What happened, ma’am?’ enquired Gerald gently. Amid this tumult, several men armed with tremendous bludgeons, with their faces besmeared with grease and soot, and otherwise disguised, were observed to be urging the populace to attempt a rescue. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. Senior year started with a whimper.
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