“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. One could go to him and tell him one loved him. Grudgingly he admired her. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. ’ Melusine swung away and moved to stare dully out of the window of the little chapel vestry onto the mews outside.
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