What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. He had an objective now. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. I have gone without dinner for three nights, and—come in.
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