The afternoon had passed now into twilight. I took the usual way home. “Because I hate you!” She spat. ’ ‘But you do not make love,’ Melusine pointed out. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. . And here he was first visited by that genius which, in his subsequent career, prompted him to so many bold and successful attempts. That had shut him up for a while. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out.
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