Melusine soon found herself seated at a table, with a dirty piece of paper in front of her, and a badly mended pen between her fingers. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. You’re going to live under the cat’s foot. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked.
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