She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. ’ ‘Well, don’t bite my head off,’ protested Mrs Sindlesham, clearly amused. The shouts of indignation—the frightful yells now raised baffle description. ’ ‘But you do not make love,’ Melusine pointed out. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. “Do come and see the Michaelmas daisies at the end of the garden,” said Mr. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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