Anna the Adventuress

"Miss Ellicot! That old cat!" Sydney exclaimed indignantly.

"Miss Ellicot!" Brendon echoed. "As if it could possibly matter what

such a person thinks of you."

Anna laughed outright.

"You are positively eloquent to-night--both of you," she declared.

"But, you see, appearances are very much against me. He knew my name,

and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn't risk

claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. He was painfully

in earnest, too. I think you will find that his story will be

believed, whatever I say; and in any case, if he is going to stay on

here, I shall have to go away."

"Don't say that," Sydney begged. "We will see that he never annoys

you."

Anna shook her head.

"He is evidently a friend of Mrs. White's," she said, "and if he is

going to persist in this delusion, we cannot both remain here. I'd

rather not go," she added. "This is much the cheapest place I know of

where things are moderately clean, and I should hate rooms all by

myself. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot

down upon one from the skies."

"And such a beast of a one," Sydney remarked vigorously.

Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully.

"I wonder," he said, "is there anything we could do to help you to get

rid of him?"

"Can you think of anything?" Anna answered. "I can't! He appears to be

a most immovable person."

Brendon hesitated for a moment. He was a little embarrassed.

"There ought to be some means of getting at him," he said. "The fellow

seems to know your name, Miss Pellissier, and that you have lived in

Paris. Might we ask you if you have ever seen him, if you knew him at

all before this evening?"

She stood up suddenly, and turning her back to them, looked steadily

out of the window. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of

boarding-houses and apartments. The steps, even the pavements, were

invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat

of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for

evening dress in Montague Street. The sound of their strident voices

floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the

shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their

male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. A young man

was playing the banjo. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out

a _pot pourri_ of popular airs. Anna raised her eyes. Above the

housetops it was different. She drew a long breath. After all, why

need one look down. Always the other things remained.

"I think," she said, "that I would rather not have anything to say

about that man."