She was not a Christian woman. ’ ‘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. He had, for the most part, been correct. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. ’ He did as she bid him, and was very soon rewarded by the discovery of an oval miniature, encased in gold. .
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