Then he could hear Hilary breathing beside him, and from outside the muted twittering of birds. “To tell you the truth, I am a little dull. ‘I suppose this is the cavalier you had with you when you—er—attended the ball the other night?’ ‘Jacques is very useful to me,’ Melusine confirmed, bestowing that same radiant smile on the young man, whose features were instantly suffused with scarlet. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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