‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess of it. ‘What was Leonardo to you?’ Melusine was instantly on the defensive. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. " "You may spare me your compassion, friend," observed Thames; "I am falsely detained. . But I was portentous, I can assure you.
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