’ ‘But you do not make love,’ Melusine pointed out. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. Wild's name. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. ’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. ” “Why not?” “Free woman—and equal.
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