I met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man. ’ ‘How can you say so?’ protested Melusine. They send you every good wish. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. She held out both her hands. Now the doctor had the "feel" that somewhere ahead lay danger. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means.
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