One would think I had agreed to her going. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. She hated the manor. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. But her tears had been for Leonardo’s expulsion, and the loss of his companionship. And if one were to love some one very much, it’s just so that one would be blindest, just when one wanted most to see.
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