You cannot arrest yourself. You are one of the Immortals. They were looking for a guide. “I do want you. ‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. He was looking pale and ill. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health.
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