Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time. “I want you so much, Lucy. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest.
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