At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. I asked you to go. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. The villagers were thronging to church. Melusine soon found herself seated at a table, with a dirty piece of paper in front of her, and a badly mended pen between her fingers. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. They must have a key. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! She felt very restless and excited.
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