What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. “When you loosen the tangle in one place you tie a knot in another. It is a very good English name, no? But who is she?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, I should say,’ said Mrs Ibstock, correcting herself. No other white people within twenty miles. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine. Everything was done in a genteel and ordinary way, but on the other hand, there was no lingering. It was not quite the search I intended,’ he said with a touch of selfmockery as he released her, ‘but success comes in all sorts of unexpected ways.
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