But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Melusine’s eyes blazed into his. She drew her naked arms around herself. ‘Come inside at once, child. And the Duke, too—I heard him say that a married secretary would be worse than useless to him. We will get on with the agreement and you shall have in it whatever rubbish you like. Well, this is OUR thing. ‘And now,’ he said, drawing Madame to the seat, and contriving to sit close enough that his anatomy touched hers at several points, ‘let us talk about you, madame.
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