Anna the Adventuress

"Then perhaps," she answered, with a new coldness in her tone,

"perhaps I really do not care. No, don't interrupt me. I think that I

am a little disappointed in you. You appear to be amongst those strong

enough in all ordinary matters, but who seem to think it quite

natural and proper to give in at once and play the weakling

directly--one cares. Do you think that it makes for happiness to force

oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the

world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence,

self-respect, one's whole scheme of life. I cannot do it, David.

Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care--but I cannot do it."

He was strangely silent. He did not even reply to her for several

minutes.

"I cannot reason with you," he said at last wearily. "I speak from my

heart, and you answer from your brain."

"Believe me that I have answered you wisely," she said, in a gentler

tone, "wisely for you too, as well as myself. And now you must go

back, take up your work and think all this over. Presently you will

see that I am right, and then you shall take your vacation over here,

and we will be good comrades again."

He smiled bitterly as he handed her from the cab. He declined to come

in.

"Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning," he said. "I

am staying at the Savoy. He can come round there."

"You will shake hands with me, please," she begged.

He took her fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. Something he saw

there made him feel for a moment ashamed. He pressed the long shapely

hand warmly in his.

"Good-bye," he said earnestly. "Please forgive me. You are right.

Quite right."

She was able to go straight to her room without delay, and she at once

locked the door with a little sigh of relief. She found herself

struggling with a storm of tears.

A sob was strangled in her throat. She struggled fiercely not to give

way.

"Oh, I am lonely," she moaned. "I am lonely. If I could but----"

* * * * * To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune

to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs

kept rising in her throat. As she drew off her skirt she felt

something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the

commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. She tore open the

envelope and read it.

"MY DEAR GIRL,-"I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. The fact

is I was so glad to see you again that it never occurred to me

that a little discretion might be advisable. I'm afraid I'm a

terribly clumsy fellow.