It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. She lay very still and closed her eyes, hear tears gliding off of her ears, causing them to itch. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. Melusine got to her feet and, tucking her shoulder under his arm on the uninjured side, put her arm about him to hold his waist, and thus contrived to take most of his weight. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. He has no imagination, no real generosity. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks.
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