For that worthless father of yours—’ Melusine let go the hand only so that she might throw her own hands in the air. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites.
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