Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. It had gone with the rest. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room. “But I am at singing-pitch. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly.
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