That is where I first knew him. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. I am afraid because I love you, so that the mere thought of failure hurts.
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