A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. “Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. For each costume she had devised a suitable form of matrimonial refusal. ‘No, for you had your own selfish plans already made, that is now seen. Why did you go back to your old look? Don’t take it personally, Lucy, but sometimes you look like you are trying to dress ‘poor’ or something. She laughed a little contemptuously.
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