It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. You may fall into the hands of your enemy. I came to see you on my own account. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. ’ Gerald came into the room as he spoke, his eyes on the stormclouds rapidly gathering in Melusine’s face. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. I’ve made up my mind. .
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