’ Melusine shrugged, and crossed to the plain door beside which hung a bell. I was his wife. She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. . At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. . Your maid would not be of the least protection. Perhaps she was. But to choose this of all moments. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine.
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