’ ‘But why?’ asked Melusine, astonished, and somewhat overwhelmed by the other girl’s volubility. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. ‘You are the one that I have met in London. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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