Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. ‘Melusine was making herself mistress of them when we met. Here he was hotly pursued. Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. It isn’t the same thing. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked.
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