But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. ‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. *** From the corner of her eye, Melusine saw Gerald move towards her and she turned to confront him, the confused turmoil in her mind causing her chest to tighten unbearably. Melusine tapped on it. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead.
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