It was, in his opinion, the most astonishing letter he had ever read. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. Your boyfriend. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. Observing Spurlock's spellbound attitude, he clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Good-bye,” he said earnestly. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. But she was relentless.
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