At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. But it looked as if the boy was not going to be of much use. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. ‘Melusine…Melusine. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. And Miss Miniver began to sway her. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. .
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