” He said. ’ ‘Truly?’ asked Melusine, warmth lighting her bosom. . Spurling, who sat on the right of the table. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. But at least it gave her more time.
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