Then the inner door opened abruptly. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. There's something queer about that young man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. Melusine turned to look at the walls, and saw, immediately opposite, set between two candelabra above a marquetry side table, a gilded mirror. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. “I want you so much, Lucy. .
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