Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. There was another little thing he had to say. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. "Open the door, I say, or I'll burst it open. ‘You are wise, Marthe. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. The metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. From suburbs, from country towns—everywhere. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity. ‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him. What! mum still. Occasionally he relit his pipe.
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