Anna the Adventuress

Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey

little room writing letters. The room was worse than pokey, it was

shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs,

wholly uninspiring. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who

was enjoying himself. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of

his tie and hair were almost rakish. He stamped his last letter as

Annabel entered.

She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was

accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat.

"John," she declared, "I must eat or die. Do get your hat, and we will

go to that corner cafe."

"Right," he answered. "I know the place you mean--very good cooking

for such an out-of-the-way show. I'll be ready in a moment."

Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his

moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass.

"I really do not believe," he announced with satisfaction, "that any

one would recognize me. What do you think, Annabel?"

"I don't think they would," she admitted. "You seem to have cultivated

quite a jaunty appearance, and you certainly look years younger. One

would think that you enjoyed crawling away out of your world into

hiding, with a very foolish wicked wife."

"Upon my word," he declared, "you are right. I really am enjoying it.

It is like a second honeymoon. If it wasn't for the fear that after

all--but we won't think of that. I don't believe any one could have

traced us here. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the

least known quarter of Paris. To-night we leave for Marseilles. On

Thursday we embark for South America."

"You are a marvellous courier," she declared, as they passed into the

street. "You see, I will take your arm. It looks so French to be

affectionate."

"There are some French customs," he declared, "which are admirable. I

presume that I may not kiss you in the street?"

"Certainly not, sir," she replied, laughing. "If you attempted such a

thing it would be in order that I should smack you hard with the palm

of my hand upon the cheek."

"That is another French custom," he remarked, "which is not so

agreeable. Here we are. Shall we sit outside and drink a _petit verre_

of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?"

"Certainly not," she answered. "I am already so hungry that I shall

begin on the _petit pains_. I have an appetite which I dare not

increase."

They entered the place, a pleasant little cafe of the sort to be met

with in the outlying parts of Paris. Most of the tables were for those

who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with

tablecloths and laid for dinner. Sir John and Annabel seated

themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small

dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a

waiter.