Here again instinct guided her. He kissed her lightly on the lips. It must have cut him. Byby. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. “How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. But the world didn’t do that. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. “Will you come round to the hospital?” he asked. Ramage, by a hundred skilful hints had led her to realize that the problem of her own life was inseparably associated with, and indeed only one special case of, the problems of any woman’s life, and that the problem of a woman’s life is love.
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