He groaned, much to Melusine’s relief. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. In the morning and at night he is dressed as he would dress in the big hotels. She looked around her. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty.
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