I AM an abandoned female. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. ’ Gosse’s eyes went to the portrait, and evidently took in the uncanny resemblance, looking from it to Melusine and back again. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English.
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