’ Melusine sank against the wall of the corridor, closing her eyes. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things.
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