CHAPTER XXI. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. ’ Melusine’s voice petered out. “And now, look at us! See what we have become. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. " "Here are your despatches," said Jonathan with a significant look, and giving him a sealed packet. Just as he completed this operation, the file broke. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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