She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. She tried not to blush. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. ‘Her name is Melusine Charvill,’ Gerald began. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. Here was an experienced man of the world, her friend, who evidently took a great interest in this supreme topic and was willing to give her the benefit of his experiences! Why should not she be at her ease with him? Why should not she know things? It is hard enough anyhow for a human being to learn, she decided, but it is a dozen times more difficult than it need be because of all this locking of the lips and thoughts. She could tell that he was leering at her. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said. Not since she had discovered it had Ruth touched or opened the mission Bible; but to-night (the same upon which the wonderful manuscripts started on their long and circuitous voyage to America) she was inexplicably drawn to it. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. She was carefree.
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