Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. When Mr. Rich folks, once. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. " "Then you are hurt," cried the carpenter in alarm. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident. He was bewildered. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. Creeping stealthily up stairs, unmasking a dark lantern, and glancing into each room as he passed, he was startled in one of them by the appearance of Mrs. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account.
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