To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. "Ja, ja, Muntmeester," said the Dutchman, removing the pipe from his mouth, and speaking in a deep and guttural voice, "leave the affair to Johannes. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. ’ She allowed herself to be pulled to the centre of the room, but uttered in a low tone, full of suppressed anxiety, ‘How can he know? How can he know?’ ‘You mean how can he know that this is your house?’ Melusine looked up at him, distress in her eyes.
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