At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own," he added, mentally. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. " "Oh, that!" she said, with a deprecating gesture.
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