He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. " "So it seems," observed the woollen-draper, "and for every one else, too.
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