Anna the Adventuress

"I positively insist upon knowing," she declared cheerfully. "The

sooner you tell me the better."

"It is very hard to explain," he answered. "I think that it is only an

idea. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to

have changed--to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at

times utterly bewildering. I find you an impenetrable enigma. I find

it impossible to associate you with--my little friend of the

'Ambassador's.' The things she said and did from you--seem impossible. I

had a sort of idea," he went on, "that you were starting life all over

again, and it seemed awfully plucky."

There was a long silence. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual.

"I think," she said, "that I rather like what you have said. Don't be

afraid to go on thinking it. Even though I am going to sing at the

'Unusual' you may find that the 'Alcide,' whom you knew in Paris does

not exist any more. At the same time," she added, in a suddenly

altered tone, "it isn't anything whatever to do with you, is it?"

"Why not?" he answered. "You permitted me then to call you my friend.

I do not intend to allow you to forget."

They passed a man who stared at them curiously. Ennison started and

looked anxiously at Anna. She was quite unconcerned.

"Did you see who that was?" he asked in a low tone.

"I did not recognize him," Anna answered. "I supposed that he took off

his hat to you."

"It was Cheveney!" he said slowly.

"Cheveney!" she repeated. "I do not know any one of that name."

He caught her wrist and turned her face towards him. Her eyes were

wide open with amazement.

"Mr. Ennison!"

He released her.

"Good God!" he exclaimed. "Who are you--Annabel Pellissier or her

ghost?"

Anna laughed.

"If it is a choice between the two," she answered, "I must be Annabel

Pellissier. I am certainly no ghost."

"You have her face and figure," he muttered. "You have even her name.

Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know

him. You have changed from the veriest butterfly to a woman--you wear

different clothes, you have the air of another world. If you do not

help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very

soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum."

She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave.

"So Mr. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?" she asked.

"Don't befool me any more," he answered, almost roughly. "If any one

should know----you should! He was your friend. We were only--_les

autres_."

"That is quite untrue," she declared cheerfully. "I certainly knew him

no better than you."