He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. ‘Do not smile at me and try to make me not angry any more,’ Melusine warned, ‘for I am very angry indeed with you. Keep a sharp look out, Austin, and see that we lose no one else. Befuddle yourself, if you want to. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot.
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