You can live just about how you like. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a holiday. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction.
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