She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. "I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real.
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