"Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. The truth at once flashed across his mind. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. ’ A peal of laughter came from the girl. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter.
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