’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. She opened and read it at once. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. And you tell me that the reason you are doing all this is so that you can marry an Englishman!’ Melusine giggled. . . And then they talked of Anarchism and Socialism, and whether the former was the exact opposite of the latter or only a higher form. Then the distant relationship to Miss Stanley gave them a slight but pleasant sense of proprietorship in the girl.
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