’ Melusine sank against the wall of the corridor, closing her eyes. “Ann Veronica has never looked quite so well, I think,” said Capes, clinging, because of a preconceived plan, to the suppressed topic. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. That’s my advice. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. But where in the world was the girl? A door led to another chamber beyond. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. “Look after her! Why not? But you have done it all your life.
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