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He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. . What do you know about her, Fred? I am interested. The thing is, Miss Charvill —’ ‘He told you my name?’ cut in Melusine, surprised. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way.
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