‘What can I do, miss?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ cried Melusine. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various scientific quarterlies for his research papers. ” “I shall always be grateful to you,” he declared.
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