Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. ” With a little crash the pistol fell from her shaking fingers. For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. Dump popped his head into the cage. She moved a little nearer to him. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. ’ She eyed him, all her uncertainty surfacing.
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