Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. Hopefully. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked.
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