Anna the Adventuress

Anna looked for a moment steadily at her sister, whose face was still

averted. Then she moved towards the door. Before she passed out she

turned and faced Sir John. The impassivity of her features changed at

last. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered.

"Really, Sir John," she said, "I don't know how to thank you. I can

understand now these newspapers when they talk of your magnificent

philanthropy. It is magnificent indeed. And yet--you millionaires

should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. I am so

much obliged to you for your projected benevolence. Frankly, it is the

funniest thing which has ever happened to me in my life. I shall like

to think of it--whenever I feel dull. Good-bye, Anna!"

Annabel sprang up. Sir John waved her back.

"Do I understand you then to refuse my offer?" he asked Anna.

She shot a sudden glance at him. Sir John felt hot and furious. It was

maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of

this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment

to scintillate with scorn. There were one or two bitter moments in his

life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a

brush may sometimes crack and show weak places--that deportment and

breeding are after all things apart. Anna went out.

* * * * * Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street,

although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming

to herself fragments of an old French song. And then at the street

corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison.

"I won't pretend," he said, "that this is an accident. The fates are

never so kind to me. As a matter of fact I have been waiting for you."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Really," she said. "And by what right do you do anything of the

sort?"

"No right at all," he admitted. "Only it is much too late for you to

be out alone. You have been to see your sister, of course. How is

she?"

"My sister is quite well, thank you," she answered. "Would you mind

calling that hansom for me?"

He looked at it critically and shook his head.

"You really couldn't ride in it," he said, deprecatingly. "The horse's

knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. I would

sooner see you in a 'bus again."

She laughed.

"Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?"

"I am afraid that I must confess it," he answered. "Idiotic, isn't

it?"

"Absolutely," she agreed coldly. "I wish you would not do it."

"Would not do what?"

"Well, follow buses from Russell Square to Hampstead."