Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. In the upper hall he paused to listen. Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the secret door could be. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition.
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