She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. ’ Melusine could not regard this view with anything but scepticism. ” The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night.
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