I tell you—never mind the bill. “Lord!” she said. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. He will be sorry when he knows who I am,’ decided Melusine with satisfaction. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. “To my chagrin, I have. . Unless they remind him now and then not to. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned.
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