But no; she must step warily. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. But it would serve. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor.
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