In his way he was critical. She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. "I have proofs to the contrary," replied Kneebone. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. ” He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica reading this last sentence. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. ’ ‘But I have still a dagger,’ Melusine warned. Kneebone's 346 XIV. She sat herself upon the bed.
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