” “Perhaps you remember me, Miss Pellissier,” the second young man interposed. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Her faith in human beings revived. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Presently. She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on. The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated.
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