She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. I might have known it. She said you HAD some money. ‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. I understand nothing of what you say. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. There’s something— something ADULT about you. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing.
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