‘What was you wanting it for, may I ask?’ ‘You may not ask, for it is none of your affair,’ Melusine snapped. “Is that plain?” she asked. ” Anna moved softly to the window, and threw up the sash. Wood. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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