"All right. . . It was an impulse. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. ’ Melusine did not forget. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. I'm having some unexpected guests. Later on I could scarcely have forgiven you. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it.
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