Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. ’ ‘Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,’ Gerald said. It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. It was not a difficult affair. Why do you look so sad?” She opened her eyes wider and stifled her emotions.
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