Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Go out there and head him off, will you? Tell him anything you like, but don’t let him in, and don’t tell him Melusine is here. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin.
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