The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “I wish he had,” she said. She rang again with the same result. Come in! Come in, do. ’ Gerald controlled a quivering lip. The musician. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. It is dull—deadly dull. The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. “Quite on my own,” she said. ‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine.
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