Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart. She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. . ‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. She held out her hand frankly.
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