Anna the Adventuress

Anna, notwithstanding her momentary fright in the middle of the day,

was in high spirits. She felt that for a time at any rate her

depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. She had

paid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such.

Beyond that everything was nebulous. She knew that in her new role she

was as likely as not to be a rank failure. But the relief from the

strain of her immediate necessities was immense. She had been in the

drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had

chattered gaily to every one. Now, in her old place, she was doing her

best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner.

"Your brother has gone?" she asked Sydney, between the courses.

He nodded.

"Yes. David left this afternoon. I do not think that he has quite got

over his surprise at finding you established here."

She laughed.

"After all, why should he be surprised?" she remarked. "Of course, one

lives differently in Paris, but then--Paris is Paris. I think that a

boarding-house is the very best place for a woman who wants to develop

her sense of humour. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of

a second-hand clothes shop."

Sydney looked at her doubtfully.

"Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean," he

remarked. "He looks as though he did, at any rate. I don't! Please

enlighten me."

She laughed gaily--and she had a way when she laughed of throwing back

her head and showing her beautiful white teeth, so that mirth from her

was a thing very much to be desired.

"Look round the table," she said. "Aren't we all just odds and ends of

humanity--the left-overs, you know. There is something inconglomerate

about us. We are amiable to one another, but we don't mix. We can't."

"You and I and Brendon get on all right, don't we?" Sydney objected.

"But that's quite different," replied Anna. "You are neither of you in

the least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. You don't wear a

dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night's shirt,

or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the

evening, or play at being musical. Besides----"

She stopped short. She herself, and one other there, recognized the

interposition of something akin to tragedy. A thickly-set, sandy young

man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had

entered the room. He wore a black tail coat buttoned tightly over his

chest, and a large diamond pin sparkled in a white satin tie which had

seen better days. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. White, who held out her

hand and beamed a welcome upon him.

"Now isn't this nice!" that lady exclaimed. "I'm sure we're all

delighted to see you again, Mr. Hill. I do like to see old friends

back here. If there's any one here whom you have not met I will make

you acquainted with them after dinner. Will you take your old place by

Miss Ellicot."