She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. “Let me know the truth. And so your Melusine is busy trying to prove that she is the real one. ’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. When anybody is natural, these days, we dub them queer. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. He would always be her friend, too. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance.
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