"Mr. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head. Give me your hand. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. Her cheeks were aflame. Mischief bubbled up in her. ‘For kissing you, or for not meaning to do so?’ ‘Imbecile,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish. She kissed Lucia’s cheeks and patted her growing belly upon rising, to which her new husband disapproved, but Lucia loved the attention and adoration.
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