’ Tears sprang to Melusine’s own eyes, and she clasped the hand she held more tightly. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. No! not even the derivation! But the fashion’s been set and in it you must be. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. 1.
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