Anna the Adventuress

"I can assure you," he answered, "that it isn't a habit of mine. But

seriously----"

"Well seriously?"

"Isn't it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your

address, and allow me to call upon you."

"Why should I? I have told you that I do not wish for acquaintances in

London."

"Perhaps not in a general way," he answered calmly. "You are quite

right, I think. Only I am not an acquaintance at all. I am an old

friend, and I declined to be shelved."

"Would you mind telling me," Anna asked, "how long I knew you in

Paris?"

He looked at her sideways. There was nothing to be learned from her

face.

"Well," he said slowly, "I had met you three times--before Drummond's

dinner."

"Oh, Drummond's dinner!" she repeated. "You were there, were you?"

He laughed a little impatiently.

"Isn't that rather a strange question--under the circumstances?" he

asked quietly.

Her cheeks flushed a dull red. She felt that there was a hidden

meaning under his words. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing

thing. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the

shoulders.

"We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground," she said. "It was

perhaps my fault. You have not forgotten----"

"I have forgotten nothing?" he answered, enigmatically.

Anna hailed a bus. He looked at her reproachfully. The bus however was

full. They fell into step again. More than ever a sense of confusion

was upon Ennison.

"Last time I saw you," he reminded her, "you spoke, did you not, of

obtaining some employment in London."

"Quite true," she answered briskly, "and thanks to you I have

succeeded."

"Thanks to me," he repeated, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"No? But it is very simple. It was you who were so much amazed that I

did not try--the music hall stage here."

"You must admit," he declared, "that to us--who had seen you--the

thought of your trying anything else was amazing."

"At any rate," she declared, "your remarks decided me. I have an

engagement with a theatrical agent--I believe for the 'Unusual'."

"You are going to sing in London?" he said quietly.

"Yes."

For a moment or two he did not speak. Glancing towards him she saw

that a shadow had fallen upon his face.

"Tell me," she insisted, "why you look like that. You are afraid--that

here in London--I shall not be a success. It is that, is it not?"

"No," he answered readily. "It is not that. The idea of your being a

failure would never have occurred to me."

"Then why are you sorry that I am going to the 'Unusual'? I do not

understand."

Their eyes met for a moment. His face was very serious.

"I am sorry," he said slowly. "Why, I do not know."