Anna the Adventuress

She turned and looked at him. Her face scarcely reflected his

enthusiasm.

"It may be more difficult than you think," she said. "You see you do

not know how much of truth there is in his story."

"If it were all true," he said doggedly, "it may still be possible."

"I will think of it," she repeated. "I cannot say more."

They talked for a while in somewhat dreamy fashion, Anna especially

being more silent than usual. At last she glanced at a little clock in

the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet.

"Heavens, look at the time!" she exclaimed. "It is incredible. I

shall barely be in time for the theatre. I must go and dress at once."

He too rose.

"I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like," he said, "but I am

going to the 'Unusual' with you. Your maid would not be of the least

protection."

"But your dinner!" she protested. "You will be so late."

He laughed.

"You cannot seriously believe," he said, "that at the present moment I

care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not."

She laughed.

"Well, you certainly did very well at tea," she remarked. "If you

really are going to wait, make yourself as comfortable as you can.

There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there."

Anna disappeared, but Ennison did not trouble either the cigarettes or

the magazines. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of

the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire.

People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, a

politician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. Yet he

was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. He was absolutely unable to

focus his ideas. The girl who had just left the room was as great a

mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in

Piccadilly and taken her to tea. And behind--there was Paris, memories

of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart

beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. For the first time a

definite doubt possessed him. A woman cannot change her soul. Then it

was the woman herself who was changed. Anna was not "Alcide" of the

"Ambassador's," whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had

called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. It was

impossible.

She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with

common-sense, his own apprehension. He rose at once to his feet and

turned a white face upon her.

"I am going to break a covenant," he cried. "I cannot keep silence any

longer."

"You are going to speak to me of things which happened before we met

in London?" she asked quietly.