Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. Melusine approached with caution and sat warily at one end, looking up at him expectantly. The pleasure intensified quickly, it was as much control as she dared to lose as she heard herself calling his name with all her breath. Loving was better than that.
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