“Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. ’ ‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy.
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