It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Winifred screamed. ‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. She went down, flushed and light-hearted, to the Widgetts’ after lunch to make some final arrangements and then, as soon as her aunt had retired to lie down for her usual digestive hour, took the risk of the servants having the enterprise to report her proceedings and carried her bag and hold-all to the garden gate, whence Teddy, in a state of ecstatic service, bore them to the railway station. ” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed.
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