’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. E. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking. On the way, he hired a chair with a couple of stout porters, and ordered them to follow him. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. Somehow logic could not explain her. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write.
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