That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. ‘What happened, ma’am?’ enquired Gerald gently. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. He was completely, devastatingly handsome. ’ ‘Melusine,’ shrieked the nun.
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