During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. ‘Don’t be so absurd. He had to know the truth, Melusine. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. ’ As a matter of fact, I am not. The two sisters were very fond of one another, I believe. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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