"Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. "That's scarcely a fair question, Mr. Will you leave us for a few minutes?" "You are not going to be harsh?" "I wish to talk about the future. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her. There was—a service. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. Perhaps you'll give me in return some token, by which I may remind you of this occurrence, in case we meet again.
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