’ He paused, but Melusine caught the inference. “And children must we women bear— “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented itself in her unwilling brain. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher. She calls him a pig, and she says he ain’t Valade. ’ The lodgekeeper’s jaw fell open. Indeed I am! I would make this country a collective monarchy, and all the girls and women in it should be the Queen.
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