‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. ’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. Ennison started and looked anxiously at Anna.
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