There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Was she so bad a prospect? ‘No good, Melusine,’ said a new voice from the doorway. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. ‘But it is entirely natural that I choose my own country. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.
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