Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. He would take with him that traitress Yolande, and claim to the lawyer that this was Melusine Charvill. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. Bottles and glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory.
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