Morningside Park had been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it was still defective. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. If I can’t talk anywhere else—I DO want an understanding. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. Gosse had to release his clamp on her mouth, for the awkwardness of the position made it impossible to negotiate the little stair. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager.
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