"No," replied Hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch. The figure she had longed to see came into her line of vision, but at this crucial moment of hideous realisation, Melusine barely took it in, her eyes fixing blankly on the man behind. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. ‘I haven’t been so much entertained since I left the Army. Aren’t I asking—asking plainly now?.
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