” Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the slightest flush of colour. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. See what your misconduct has deprived you of —see what you might have been. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to.
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