” He uttered thoughtfully. Before I met you I never met any one whom I felt I could love, but you have discovered depths in my own nature I had scarcely suspected. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. I did what I could to comfort her but she died in terrible pain. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. Melusine turned to look at the walls, and saw, immediately opposite, set between two candelabra above a marquetry side table, a gilded mirror. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere.
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