But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. You are infatuated. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. "It was silly. ‘Do not smile at me and try to make me not angry any more,’ Melusine warned, ‘for I am very angry indeed with you.
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