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It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. She forced herself not to think of John. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. ‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. You are not going to that infidel Russell’s classes. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. They will say that it was murder. Cathy sighed. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly.
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