“I am only sorry that I did not ask you to go with me. Mr. ’ Melusine glared. “You are late,” she murmured. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. He could not understand how men could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter.
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