’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. She'll have this hour always with her; and you failed her. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. The two young fools laughed until they cried. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache.
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