He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. ’ It was immediately evident that Lucilla Froxfield was not as silly as Melusine had thought, for the face of her captain immediately changed and he took her hands, a look on his face that caused Melusine an instant pang. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. He was a shy boy outwardly but she knew him better in his thoughts, in which perhaps she had already taken upon the role of lover. “FAIL!” she said.
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