’ Gerald eyed her with interest. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. On this side of the canal she has no place to go. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create.
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