Leaving the panel wide, Melusine dashed to the library door and flung it open, racing into the hall. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. But first, we’ve got to secure the convent. Say that I will call again or let him know my address in London. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights.
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