” “It’s the perpetual trouble,” he said, “of parent and child. ’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. I will light the stove, and there shall be some coffee presently. It was among artistic people. Sheppard, somewhat alarmed by this preamble. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. “They might do you good,” she remarked. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence.
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