She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. “We’re going to be sensible. “Afterwards,” she said, “I should be perfectly content to have everything done for me. ’ ‘But I have still a dagger,’ Melusine warned.
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