“Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. ‘Eh bien?’ ‘You are perfectly right, Melusine. . Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. He kissed her once inside the car. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. I never made any effort to touch them; so by and by they learned to light fearlessly on my arms and shoulders. “Well, if I find your conversation interesting I shall listen. “The truth!” It was a moment of awkwardness between the two sisters —a moment, too, charged with its own psychological interest, for there were secrets between them which for many months had made their intercourse a constrained and difficult thing. She ought to have leapt back on guard. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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