“I don’t think she will,” she said. They went down the great staircase of the building, and, while she sought in her mind for a beginning, he broke into appreciation of her simple dress and selfcongratulations upon their engagement. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. She entered the last room, his bedroom. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. But I may yet live to thwart them. Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. They will claim particular attention hereafter. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her.
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