It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. But over against the world Miss Miniver assembled a small but energetic minority, the Children of Light—people she described as “being in the van,” or “altogether in the van,” about whom Ann Veronica’s mind was disposed to be more sceptical. . Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. Epithalamy might do.
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