Anna the Adventuress

"Mr. Ennison," she exclaimed, "is that really you?"

There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. She held out her

hand frankly. She seemed honestly glad to see him.

"How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my

doorstep!" she remarked gaily. "Are you in a hurry? Will you come in

and have some coffee?"

He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. He saw now that it

was merely a boy.

"This is Mr. Sydney Courtlaw--Mr. Ennison," she said. "You are coming

in, aren't you, Sydney?"

"If I may," he answered. "Your coffee's too good to refuse."

She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison.

"Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you," she said.

"I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny

little note but no address. I did not even know where to write and

thank you."

"I have been abroad," he said. "The life of a private secretary is

positively one of slavery. I had to go at a moment's notice."

"I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to

see me," she said good-humouredly. "Please make yourselves comfortable

while I see to the coffee."

It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its

quaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange

and unexpected places. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from

a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. A jar

of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of

colour from the sombre curtains behind. Anna, who had thrown aside her

sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade.

He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the

play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. A

woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. A

dreamy sense of content crept over him. The ambitions of his life, and

they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some

outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. A

little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. There were

cakes and sandwiches--for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be

remembered. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with

a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air.

Ennison stood by her side. They looked out over the city, grim and

silent now, for it was long past midnight. For a moment her thoughts

led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together

before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir

John had made so many changes in her life. She was silent, the ghost

of a fading smile passed from her lips. She had made her way since

then a little further into the heart of life. Yet even now there were

so many things untouched, so much to be learned. To-night she had a

curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. The

great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass

alone. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation

crept over her. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known.

Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. She glanced into her

companion's face, and she saw there strange things. For a moment her

heart seemed to stop beating. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped

back into the room. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood

upon the piano.