. ’ Melusine sank against the wall of the corridor, closing her eyes. “I have the right to be here. It is Thérèse. A little kindness would not bring the world tumbling about her ears. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity. ‘It is all the fault of that lantern. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. There are way-stations—even terminals. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling.
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