But—Miss Pellissier!” “Well?” “Are you quite sure that you want us this evening? Wouldn’t you rather be alone? Just say the word, and we’ll clear out like a shot. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. . ’ ‘We are not all of us so empty-headed, Melusine,’ pleaded Miss Froxfield. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself.
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