Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say that such ignorance was beyond her. . Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently.
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