I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. Melusine came back to the present to discover that tears were rolling down her cheeks. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. ’ Melusine rose from her chair in sudden irritation. He closed the door.
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