A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. Next moment, he had Melusine by the arm. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically.
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