‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. Such revelations she hoped would be considered out of place and inappropriate.
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