ANNA THE ADVENTURESS By E. Phillips Oppenheim AUTHOR OF "THE SECRET", "THE TRAITORS", ETC. WARD, LOCK & CO. , LIMITED LONDON AND MELBOURNE MADE IN ENGLAND _Printed in Great Britain by C. Tinling & Co. , Ltd. , Liverpool, London and Prescot. _ ABOUT THE STORY Annabel Pellissier, for reasons of her own, allows Sir JohnFerringhall to believe that she is her sister Anna. Anna lets thedeception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister'sreputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. Endless complications ensue when both sisters return to London. This is one of the late E. Phillips Oppenheim's most intriguingstories. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THE CARPET-KNIGHT AND THE LADY 7 II THE ADVENTURE OF ANNABEL 15 III ANNA? OR ANNABEL? 20 IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST 26 V "ALCIDE" 31 VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION 36 VII MISS PELLISSIER'S SUSPICIONS 41 VIII "WHITE'S" 45 IX BRENDON'S LUCK 54 X THE TRAGEDY OF AN APPETITE 61 XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON 66 XII THE POSTER OF "ALCIDE" 70 XIII "HE WILL NOT FORGET!" 76 XIV "THIS IS MY WIFE" 81 XV A MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE 89 XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN 96 XVII THE CHANGE IN "ALCIDE" 103 XVIII ANNABEL AND "ALCIDE" 109 XIX "THIS IS NOT THE END" 115 XX ANNA'S SURRENDER 121 XXI HER SISTER'S SECRET 126 XXII AN OLD FOOL 134 XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST 138 XXIV A CASE FOR THE POLICE 144 XXV THE STEEL EDGE OF THE TRUTH 150 XXVI ANNABEL IS WARNED 156 XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN 162 XXVIII THE HISSING OF "ALCIDE" 169 XXIX MONTAGUE HILL PLAYS THE GAME 174 XXX SIR JOHN'S NECKTIE 178 XXXI ANNA'S TEA PARTY 183 XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER 188 ANNA THE ADVENTURESS _Chapter I_ THE CARPET-KNIGHT AND THE LADY The girl paused and steadied herself for a moment against a fieldgate. Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. Her dainty shoeswere soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. Veryslowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. Her cheeks were thecolour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. If a cart werecoming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape wasimpossible. The terror faded from her eyes. A faint gleam of returning colour gaveher at once a more natural appearance. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. Awayoff in the fields the blue-smocked peasants bent still at their toil. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. A few more minutes, and she wassafe. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooledherself with an effort to look where it had happened. A dark mass ofwreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in theditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk ofwhich the bark had been torn and stripped. A few yards further offsomething grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanitytwisted into a strange unnatural shape. Again the chalky pallor spreadeven to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. Shewithdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight. Away upon the hillside was the little country railway station. She fixed hereyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadowof the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along thevalley for the white smoke of the train. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionistswho had come from the river on the other side, took her place in thetrain unnoticed. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Until the last moment she was afraid. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a_fiacre_. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other shemade her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an emptyseat. She had not at first the power for concealment. Her nerves wereshattered, her senses dazed by this unexpected shock. She sat there, amark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wonderingglances. Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot whichshe had found. Yet she never once thought of changing it. A person ofsomewhat artificial graces and mannerisms, she was for once in herlife perfectly natural. Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she wascontinually attracting. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. Hewas perhaps forty-five years of age. He was dressed with the utmostcare, and he set his feet upon the broad walk as though the actionwere in some way a condescension. He was alert, well-groomed, andyet--perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type--there wasa suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. He too lookedat the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through hiseye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finallycame to a dead stop. He scratched his upper lip reflectively. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. In the present case it didnot matter, as there was no one else within earshot. "Dear me!" he said. "Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. She isEnglish! I am sure of that. She is English, and apparently in somedistress. I wonder----" He turned slowly round. He was inclined to be a good-natured person, and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub. The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady. "She cannot be aware, " he continued, "that she is making herselfconspicuous. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her ahint--a fellow countrywoman too. I trust that she will notmisunderstand me. I believe--I believe that I must risk it. " He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voicelowered to a convenient pitch. "I beg your pardon, " he said, "but you appear to be afellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. Can I be of anyassistance? I can assure you that it would give me very muchpleasure. " Her first upward glance was one of terrified apprehension. When shesaw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, herexpression changed as though by magic. A delicate flush of colourstreamed into her cheeks. Her eyes fell, and then sought his againwith timid interest. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. Shebegan to act. "You are very kind, " she said hesitatingly, "but I don't remember--Idon't think that I know you, do I?" "I am afraid that you do not, " he admitted, with a smile which hemeant to be encouraging. "You remind me of the story which they tellagainst us over here, you know--of the Englishman who refused to besaved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer. Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Ferringhall--Sir JohnFerringhall. " There was genuine interest in her eyes now. Sir John saw it, and wasflattered. "You are Sir John Ferringhall, " she repeated. "Yes, I remember younow. You were pointed out to me at--a few nights ago. " He was not in the least surprised. A millionaire and a knight, eventhough his money has been made in carpets, is used to being a personof interest. "Very likely, " he answered. "I am fairly well known here. I mustapologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearancecertainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and youwere becoming--pardon me--an object of comment to the passers-by. " The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the cornersof her mouth--humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. As thoughaccidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. Sir John hesitated. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quitesure--yet--that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so publica place. His inclinations prompted him most decidedly to take thevacant chair. Prudence reminded him that he was a county magistrate, and parliamentary candidate for a somewhat difficult borough, wherehis principal supporters were dissenters of strict principles who tooka zealous interest in his moral character. He temporized, and the girlraised her eyes once more to his. "You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?" she remarked. "My father's sisters used once to live inthe old manor house. I believe you have had it pulled down, have younot?" "The Misses Pellissier!" he exclaimed. "Then your name----" "My name is Pellissier. My father was Colonel Pellissier. He had anappointment in Jersey, you know, after he left the army. " Sir John did not hesitate any longer. He sat down. "Upon my word, " he exclaimed, "this is most extraordinary. I----" Then he stopped short, for he began to remember things. He was notquite sure whether, after all, he had been wise. He would have risenagain, but for the significance of the action. "Dear me!" he said. "Then some of your family history is known to me. One of your aunts died, I believe, and the other removed to London. " The girl nodded. "She is living there now, " she remarked. "Your father is dead too, I believe, " he continued, "and your mother. " "Two years ago, " she answered. "They died within a few months of oneanother. " "Very sad--very sad indeed, " he remarked uneasily. "I remember hearingsomething about it. I believe that the common report was that you andyour sister had come to Paris to study painting. " She assented gently. "We have a small studio, " she murmured, "in the Rue de St. Pierre. " Sir John looked at her sideways. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate andgirlish. After all, this could never be the black sheep. He had beenquite right to sit down. It was astonishing how seldom it was that hisinstincts betrayed him. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction. "Come, " he continued, "the world after all is a very small place. Weare not altogether strangers, are we? I feel that under thecircumstances I have the right to offer you my advice, and ifnecessary my help. I beg that you will consider me your friend. " She looked at him with fluttering eyelids--sweetly grateful. It wassuch an unexpected stroke of fortune. Sir John was not used to suchglances, and he liked them. "It is so difficult, " she murmured, "so impossible to explain. Even tomy own brother--if I had one--I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren't you?" "No, no!" he protested. "You must not think of me as one. Try andconsider me your elder brother, or an old family friend, whichever youlike best. " She thanked him with one of her shy little glances. More than ever SirJohn was glad that he had sat down. "It is very, very difficult, " she continued, looking steadfastly atthe ground. "Only--I have come face to face--with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. I want to leave Paris to-day--this veryday. I want to leave it for ever. " He looked at her very gravely. "But your sister?" he asked. "What of her? Have you quarrelled withher?" The girl shook her head. "No, " she answered. "I have not quarrelled with her. It is simply ourpoint of view which is altogether different. I want to get away--to goto London. I cannot explain beyond that. " "Then I am sure, " Sir John declared, "that I shall not ask you. I knownothing about the matter, but I feel convinced that you are right. Youought to have had better advice two years ago. Paris is not the placefor two young girls. I presume that you have been living alone?" She sighed gently. "My sister, " she murmured, "is so independent. She is Bohemian to thefinger-tips. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. " Sir John smiled and congratulated himself upon his insight. He was soseldom wrong. "The next question, Miss Anna, " he said, "is how am I to help you? Iam wholly at your disposal. " She looked up at him quickly. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. "Anna!" she repeated. "How do you know--why do you think that my nameis Anna?" He smiled in a quietly superior way. "I think, " he said, "that I am right. I am very good at guessingnames. " "I am really curious, " she persisted. "You must have heard--haveyou--oh, tell me, won't you?" she begged. "Have you heard things?" The tears stood in her eyes. She leaned a little towards him. Nothingbut the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terribleconstituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful butunmistakable evidence of his sympathy. "I am afraid, " he said gravely, "that your sister has been a littleindiscreet. It is nothing at all for you to worry about. " She looked away from him. "I knew, " she said, in a low despairing tone, "that people wouldtalk. " He coughed gently. "It was inevitable, " he declared. "It is not, of course, a pleasantsubject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may ventureto suggest to you that your sister's--er--indiscretions--have reacheda point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. " She covered her face with her hands. "It--it--must come, " she faltered. "I do not lay claim, " he continued, "to any remarkable amount ofinsight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon yourpresent cause of distress. " "You are wonderful!" she murmured. He smiled complacently. "Not at all. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. Now what I wantyou to feel is this. I want you to feel that you have found a friendwho has a strong desire to be of service to you. Treat me as an elderbrother, if you like. He is here by your side. How can he help you?" She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpet-merchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Perhaps the Parisianatmosphere had affected him. He leaned towards her, laid his handtenderly upon hers. "I hope you realize, " he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, "that I am in earnest--very much in earnest. You must let me dowhatever I can for you. I shall count it a privilege. " "I believe you, " she murmured. "I trust you altogether. I am going totake you entirely at your word. I want to leave Paris to-day. Will youlend me the money for my ticket to London?" "With all the pleasure in the world, " he answered heartily. "Let meadd too that I am thankful for your decision. You have somewhere to goto in London, I hope. " She nodded. "There is my aunt, " she said. "The one who used to live at Lyndmore. She will take me in until I can make some plans. It will be horriblydull, and she is a very trying person. But anything is better thanthis. " He took out his watch. "Let me see, " he said. "Your best route will be via Boulogne andFolkestone at nine o'clock from the Gare du Nord. What about yourluggage?" "I could get a few of my things, at any rate, " she said. "My sister issure to be out. " "Very well, " he said. "It is just six o'clock now. Supposing you fetchwhat you can, and if you will allow me, I will see you off. It wouldgive me great pleasure if you would dine with me somewhere first. " She looked at him wistfully, but with some unwilling doubt in herwrinkled forehead. It was excellently done, especially as she lovedgood dinners. "You are very kind to think of it, " she said, "but--don't you thinkperhaps--that I had better not?" He smiled indulgently. "My dear child, " he said, "with me you need have no apprehension. I amalmost old enough to be your father. " She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows--a look of whimsicalincredulity. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so veryold. "That sounds quite absurd, " she answered. "Yet it is my last evening, and I think--if you are sure that you would like to have me--that Iwill risk it. " "We will go to a very quiet place, " he assured her, "a place where Ihave often taken my own sisters. You will be wearing your travellingdress, and no doubt you would prefer it. Shall we say at half-pastseven?" She rose from her chair. "I will take a carriage, " she said, "and fetch my things. " "Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, athalf-past seven then, " he decided. "I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself--pray don't look likethat. It is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back ifyou will. " She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsivemovement. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. "I cannot thank you, Sir John, " she said. "I shall never be able tothank you. " "Won't you postpone the attempt, then?" he said gallantly, "until Ihave done something to deserve your gratitude? You will notforget--seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. " She drove off in a little _fiacre_, nodding and smiling at Sir John, who remained upon the Avenue. He too, when she had disappeared, calleda carriage. "Hotel Ritz, " he said mechanically to the coachman. "If only hersister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisianstalking. " _Chapter II_ THE ADVENTURE OF ANNABEL The man spoke mercilessly, incisively, as a surgeon. Only he hated thewords he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from hislips. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. "You have the temperament, " he said. "You have the ideas. Your firsttreatment of a subject is always correct, always suggestive. But ofwhat avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. You lack onlythat mechanical knack of expression which is the least important partof an artist's equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolutenecessity. We have both tried hard to develop it--you and I--and wehave failed. It is better to face the truth. " "Much better, " she agreed. "Oh, much better. " "Personally, " he went on, "I must confess to a great disappointment. Ilooked upon you from the first as the most promising of my pupils. Ioverlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lackof finish, the crudeness of your drawing. I said to myself, 'this willcome. ' It seems that I was mistaken. You cannot draw. Your fingers areeven now as stiff as a schoolgirl's. You will never be able to draw. You have the ideas. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it willnot be painting. Take my advice. Burn your palette and your easel. Give up your lonely hours of work here. Look somewhere else in life. Depend upon it, there is a place for you--waiting. Here you only wasteyour time. " She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he couldnot see her face. He drew a little breath of relief. The worst wasover now. He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. "After all, there are great things left in the world for you. Paintingis only one slender branch of the great tree. To-night all this mayseem hard and cruel. To-morrow you will feel like a freed woman. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again--of other things. " A man of infinite tact and kindness, he spoke his message and went. The girl, with a little moan, crossed the room and threw open thewindow. She looked steadfastly out. Paris, always beautiful even in thedarkness, glittered away to the horizon. The lights of the ChampsElysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep coolbackground of the night. She stood there with white set face andnervously clenched fingers. The echo of those kindly words seemedstill to ring in her ears. She was crushed with a sense of her ownterrible impotency. A failure! She must write herself down a failure!At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament andcreative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means ofexpression. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman oftalent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmascards, or teaching at a kindergarten. Her finger-nails dug into herflesh. It was the bitterest moment of her life. She flung herself backinto the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. In a momentaryfury she seized and tore in pieces the study which remained upon theeasel. The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower. It wasthe end, she told herself, fiercely. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caughtupon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming alight tune. The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. "Anna! What tragedy has happened, little sister? No lights, no supper, no coffee--and, above all, no Mr. Courtlaw. How dreary it all looks. Never mind. Come and help me pack. I'm off to England. " "Annabel, are you mad? To England! You are joking, of course. But comein, dear. I will light the stove, and there shall be some coffeepresently. " "Coffee! Bah!" The newcomer picked her way across the floor with daintily upliftedskirts, and subsided into a deck chair of stretched canvas. "I will not rob you of your coffee, most dutiful of sisters!" sheexclaimed. "I have had adventures--oh, more than one, I can assureyou. It has been a marvellous day--and I am going to England. " Anna looked at her sister gravely. Even in her painting smock and withher disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls wasmarvellous. "The adventures I do not doubt, Annabel, " she said. "They seem tocome to you as naturally as disappointment--to other people. But toEngland! What has happened, then?" Already the terror of a few hours ago seemed to have passed away fromthe girl who leaned back so lazily in her chair, watching the tip ofher patent shoe swing backwards and forwards. She could even think ofwhat had happened. Very soon she would be able to forget it. "Happened! Oh, many things, " she declared indolently. "The mostimportant is that I have a new admirer. " The wonderful likeness between the two girls was never less noticeablethan at that moment. Anna stood looking down upon her sister withgrave perturbed face. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort ofinsolent _abandon_ in her pose, and wide-open eyes which neverflinched or drooped. One realized indeed then where the differenceslay; the tender curves about Anna's mouth transformed into hard sharplines in Annabel's, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other'smore beautiful but with less expression--windows lit with dazzlinglight, but through which one saw--nothing. "A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going toEngland?" "Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall--very stupid, veryrespectable, very egotistical. But, after all, what does that matter?He is very much taken with me. He tries hard to conceal it, but hecannot. " "Then why, " Anna asked quietly, "do you run away? It is not like you. " Annabel laughed softly. "How unkind!" she exclaimed. "Still, since it is better to tell you, Sir John is very much in earnest, but his respectability is somethingaltogether too overpowering. Of course I knew all about him years ago, and he is exactly like everybody's description of him. I am afraid, Anna, just a little afraid, that in Paris I and my friends here mightseem a trifle advanced. Besides, he might hear things. That is why Icalled myself Anna. " "You--you did what?" Anna exclaimed. "Called myself Anna, " the girl repeated coolly. "It can't make anydifference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris whocould tell us apart. " Anna tried to look angry, but her mouth betrayed her. Instead, shelaughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran downher cheeks. "You little wretch!" she exclaimed weakly. "Why should I bear theburden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shallpermit nothing of the sort. " Annabel shrugged her shoulders. "Too late, my dear girl, " she exclaimed. "I gave your name. I calledmyself Anna. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. Three little letters can't make a bit of difference. " "But it may matter very much indeed, " Anna declared. "Perhaps formyself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, andhe will not like having been deceived. Tell him the truth, Annabel. " "The truth!" There was a brief but intense silence. Anna felt that her words hadbecome charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any whichshe had intended to impart. "The truth!" It was a moment ofawkwardness between the two sisters--a moment, too, charged with itsown psychological interest, for there were secrets between them whichfor many months had made their intercourse a constrained and difficultthing. It was Annabel who spoke. "How crude you are, Anna!" she exclaimed with a little sigh. "Sir Johnis not at all that sort. He is the kind of man who would much prefer alittle dust in his eyes. But heavens, I must pack!" She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from whichshe emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelledhair. "It is positively no use, Anna, " she declared, appealingly. "You mustpack for me. I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. I can't do it evendecently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all myclothes. " Anna laughed, gave in and with deft fingers created order out ofchaos. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. Then shetook her sister's hand. "Annabel, " she said, "I have never asked you for your confidence. Wehave lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wideapart. There are many things which I do not understand. Have youanything to tell me before you go?" Annabel laughed lightly. "My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my longlist of misdeeds. " "You have nothing to tell me?" "Nothing!" So Annabel departed with the slightest of farewells, wearing a thicktravelling veil, and sitting far back in the corner of a closedcarriage. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage joltaway along the cobbled street and disappear. Then she stepped backinto the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon thescattered fragments of her last canvas. "It is a night of endings, " she murmured to herself. "Perhaps for me, "she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, "anight of beginnings. " _Chapter III_ ANNA? OR ANNABEL? Sir John was wholly unable to understand the laugh and semi-ironicalcheer which greeted his entrance to the smoking-room of the EnglishClub on the following evening. He stood upon the threshold, danglinghis eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildlyinterrogative. He wanted to know what the joke against him was--ifany. "May I enquire, " he asked smoothly, "in what way my appearancecontributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like toshare it. " A fair-haired young Englishman looked up from the depths of his easychair. "You hear him?" he remarked, looking impressively around. "A joke!Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we shouldhave greeted you in pained silence. We had not then recovered fromthef shock. Our ideal had fallen. A sense of loss was amongst us. Drummond, " he continued, looking across at his _vis-à-vis_, "we lookto you to give expression to our sentiments. Your career at the barhad given you a command of language, also a self-control notvouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. Explain to Sir John our feelings. " Drummond, a few years older, dark, clean-shaven, with bright eyes andhumorous mouth, laid down his paper and turned towards Sir John. Heremoved his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air. "Holcroft, " he remarked, "in bald language, and with the usuallimitations of his clouded intellect, has still given some slightexpression to the consternation which I believe I may say is generalamongst us. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the oneEnglishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of ourrace. We have seen great and sober-minded men come to this unholycity, and become degenerates. We have known men who have come here forno other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who havestrode into the arena of temptation, waving the--the what is it--thewhite flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellousfacility for the violets of the Parisienne. But you, Ferringhall, ourpattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, aprospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had heaspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of LordMayor--James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. I cannot go on. Myfeelings overpower me. " "You all seem to be trying to pull my leg, " Sir John remarked quietly. "I suppose you'll come to the point soon--if there is one. " Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. "He dissembles, " he said. "After all, how easy the descent is, evenfor the greatest of us. I hope that James will not be long with thatwhisky and Apollinaris. My nerves are shaken. I require stimulant. " Sir John seated himself deliberately. "I should imagine, " he said, shaking out a copy of _The Times_, "thatit is your brain which is addled. " Drummond looked up with mock eagerness. "This, " he exclaimed, "must be either the indifference of an utterlycallous nature, or it may be--ye gods, it may be--innocence. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken. " "Think not, " that young man remarked laconically. "I will put the question, " Drummond said gravely. "Ferringhall, wereyou or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in theBoulevard des Italiennes with--_la petite_ Pellissier?" Now indeed Sir John was moved. He sat up in his chair as though thequestion had stung him. _The Times_ slipped from his fingers. His eyeswere bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed _timbre_. "It is true, " he said, "that I was dining last night at a restaurantin the Boulevard des Italiennes, and it is true that my companion wasa young lady whose name is Pellissier. What of it?" There was a shout of laughter. Sir John looked about him, and somehowthe laugh died away. If such a thing in connexion with him had beenpossible they would have declared that he was in a towering rage. Anuncomfortable silence followed. Sir John once more looked around him. "I repeat, gentlemen, " he said, in an ominously low tone, "what ofit?" Drummond shrugged his shoulders. "You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than itdeserves, Ferringhall, " he remarked. "I fail to see the joke, " Sir John said. "Kindly explain it to me. " "Certainly! The thing which appeals to our sense of humour is the factthat you and _la petite_ Pellissier were dining together. " "Will you tell me, " Sir John said ponderously, "by what right you callthat young lady--_la petite_ Pellissier? I should be glad to know howyou dare to allude to her in a public place in such a disrespectfulmanner!" Drummond looked at him and smiled. "Don't be an ass, Ferringhall, " he said tersely. "Annabel Pellissieris known to most of us. I myself have had the pleasure of dining withher. She is very charming, and we all admire her immensely. She singstwice a week at the 'Ambassador's' and the 'Casino Mavise'----" Sir John held up his hand. "Stop, " he said. "You do not even know what you are talking about. Theyoung lady with whom I was dining last night was Miss Anna Pellissier. Miss Annabel is her sister. I know nothing of that young lady. " There was a moment's silence. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. "The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna, " heremarked. "It was not necessary, " Sir John answered stiffly. "I was alreadyaware of the fact. I may add that the family is well known to me. Thetwo aunts of these young ladies lived for many years in the dowerhouse upon my estate in Hampshire. Under the circumstances you mustpermit me to be the best judge of the identity of the young lady whodid me the honour, as an old family friend, of dining with me. " Like most men who lie but seldom, he lied well. Drummond smoked hiscigarette meditatively. He remembered that he had heard stories aboutthe wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was anartist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a verygay and a very brilliant little _coterie_ of pleasure-seekers. Therewas a bare chance that he had been mistaken. He thought it best to letthe matter drop. A few minutes later Sir John left the room. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down. His cigar burntout between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. He hadseldom been more perturbed. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. The girl had told him distinctly that her name wasAnna. Her whole conduct and tone had been modest and ladylike. He wentover his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. She had behaved in every way perfectly. His spirits began to rise. Drummond had made an abominable mistake. It was not possible for himto have been deceived. He drew a little sigh of relief. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. Hewas a business man, pure and simple, his eyes were fastened alwaysupon the practical side of life. Such ambitions as he had werestereotyped and material. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein ofsentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was nowunexpectedly aware. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sittingthere and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming toassume a definite importance in his mind--a place curiously apart fromthose dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaiclife. Somehow or other his reputation as a hardened and unassailablebachelor had won for him during the last few years a comparativeimmunity from attentions on the part of those women with whom he hadbeen brought into contact. It was a reputation by no means deserved. Awife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had beensecretly but assiduously looking for her. In his way he was critical. The young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he movedneither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections. This girl whom he had met by chance and befriended had done both. Shepossessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped--theinnate charm of breeding. The Pellissiers had been an old family inHampshire, while his grandfather had driven a van. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. Hepictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of heraunt's--she had told him that it was shabby--and he recalled thatdelicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smilewhich seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. She waspoor. He was heartily thankful for it. He thought of his wealth foronce from a different point of view. How much he would be able to dofor her. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the "open sesame" to thewhole world of pleasure. He himself, middle-aged, steeped intraditions of the City and money-making, very ill-skilled in all thelighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to herinvested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magicalpowers of an unlimited banking account. She should be lifted out ofher narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. Andafterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwardswhere the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool greenof the lime-trees. His lips parted in a rare smile. Afterwards was themost delightful part of all!. .. If only there had not been this single torturing thought--a merepin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Suddenly he stopped short. He was in front of one of the more imposing of the _caféschantants_--opposite, illuminated with a whole row of lights, was thewonderful poster which had helped to make "Alcide" famous. He hadlooked at it before without comprehension. To-night the subtlesuggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their verysimplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes--the innermeaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. Hestood still, almost breathless. A slow anger burned in the man. It wasdebauching, this--a devilish art which drew such strange allurementsfrom a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group ofloiterers about the entrance. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face. "Monsieur admires the poster?" As a rule Sir John treated such advances with cold silence. Thiswoman, contrary to his custom, he answered. "It is hateful--diabolical!" he exclaimed. The woman shrugged her shoulders. "It is a great art, " she said in broken English. "The little Englishgirl is very fortunate. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, nogesture, no acting, nothing. And they pay her. Monsieur is goinginside perhaps?" But Sir John's eyes were still riveted upon the poster, and his heartwas beating with unaccustomed force. For just as though a vaguelikeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vaguedissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of histhoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. He drew a littlebreath and stepped back. After all, he had the means of setting thistormenting doubt at rest. She had mentioned the address where she andher sister had lived. He would go there. He would see this sister. Hewould know the truth then once and for all. He walked hastily to theside of the broad pavement and summoned a _fiacre_. _Chapter IV_ THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST "You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris, "Anna said lightly. "You may talk--if you can talk cheerfully, notunless. " "And you?" asked David Courtlaw. "Well, if I find your conversation interesting I shall listen. If not, I have plenty to think about, " she answered, leaning back in herchair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. "For instance?" She smiled. "How I am to earn enough _sous_ for my dinner to-morrow--or failingthat, what I can sell. " His face darkened. "And yet, " he said, "you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. " "Why not? Your spirits at least should be good. It is not you who runsthe risk of going dinnerless to-morrow. " He turned upon her almost fiercely. "You know, " he muttered, "you know quite well that your troubles arefar more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Do you think that I amutterly selfish?" She raised her eyebrows. "Troubles, my friend, " she exclaimed lightly. "But I have notroubles. " He stared at her incredulously, and she laughed very softly. "What a gloomy person you are!" she murmured. "You call yourself anartist--but you have no temperament. The material cares of life hangabout your neck like a millstone. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrowwould make you miserable to-night. You know I call that positivelywicked. It is not at all what I expected either. On the whole, I thinkthat I have been disappointed with the life here. There is so little_abandon_, so little real joyousness. " "And yet, " he murmured, "one of the greatest of our writers hasdeclared that the true spirit of Bohemianism is denied to your sex. " "He was probably right, " she declared. "Bohemianism is the leastunderstood word ever coined. I do not think that I have the Bohemianspirit at all. " He looked at her thoughtfully. She wore a plain black dress, reachingalmost to her throat--her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysteriousin its Sphinx-like immobility. A woman hard to read, who seemed todelight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity offeature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, hermaster, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. Shereminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, atothers of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kingsaway from her doors, and had just announced her intention of endingher life in a convent. "I believe that you are right, " he said softly. "It is the worst ofincluding in our vocabulary words which have no definite meaning, perhaps I should say of which the meaning varies according to one'spersonal point of view. You, for instance, you live, you are notafraid to live. Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgarthing. " She stirred gently in her chair. "My friend, " she said, "I have been your pupil for two years. You havewatched all the uncouth creations of my brain come sprawling out uponthe canvas, and besides, we have been companions. Yet the fact remainsthat you do not understand me at all. No, not one little bit. It isextraordinary. " "It is, " he replied, "the one humiliation of my life. My opportunitieshave been immense, and my failure utter. If I had been your companiononly, and not your master, I might very well have been content toaccept you for what you seem. But there have been times, Anna, whenyour work has startled me. Ill-drawn, without method or sense ofproportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawnthem out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. God knows how you did it. You are utterly baffling. " She laughed at him easily and mirthfully. "Dear friend, " she said, "do not magnify me into a physiologicalproblem. I should only disappoint you terribly some day. I think Iknow where I am puzzling you now----" "Then for Heaven's sake be merciful, " he exclaimed. "Lift up onecorner of the curtain for me. " "Very well. You shall tell me if I am wrong. You see me here, anadmitted failure in the object to which I have devoted two years of mylife. You know that I am practically destitute, without means or anycertain knowledge of where my next meal is coming from. I speakfrankly, because you also know that no possible extremity would induceme to accept help from any living person. You notice that I haverecently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, andthat there are roses upon my table. You observe that I am, as usual, fairly cheerful, and moderately amiable. It surprises you. You do notunderstand, and you would like to. Very well! I will try to help you. " Her hand hung over the side of her chair nearest to him. He looked atit eagerly, but made no movement to take it. During all their longcomradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. Thiswas David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very differentfrom the ways of other men as regards her sex. "You see, it comes after all, " she continued, "from certain originalconvictions which have become my religion. Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the mostabsolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, tothink of one's troubles at all except of how to overcome them. I spendmany delightful hours thinking of the pleasant and beautiful things oflife. I decline to waste a single second even in considering the uglyones. Do you know that this becomes a habit?" "If you would only teach us all, " he murmured, "how to acquire it. " "I suppose people would say that it is a matter of temperament, " shecontinued. "With me I believe that it is more. It has become a part ofthe order of my life. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be nonethe better for anticipating its miseries to-day. " "I wonder, " he said, a trifle irrelevantly, "what the future has instore for you. " She shrugged her shoulders. "Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?" He seemed deaf to her interruption. His grey eyes burned under hisshaggy eyebrows. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see moreof her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble inthe uncertain light. "You were born for great things, " he said huskily. "For greatpassions, for great accomplishments. Will you find your destiny, Iwonder, or will you go through life like so many others--a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one couldbut find the way to your heart. " She laughed gaily. "Dear friend, " she said, "remember that you are speaking to one whohas failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought toaccomplish. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into theruts. " He shook his head. "You were never born, " he declared, "to follow the well worn roads. Iwonder, " he added, after a moment's pause, "whether you ever realizehow young you are. " "Young? I am twenty-four. " "Yet you are very young. Anna, why will you persist in thissingle-handed combat with life?" "Don't!" she cried. "But I must, I will, " he answered fiercely. "Oh, I know you would stopme if you could. This time you cannot. You are the woman I love, Anna. Let me make your future for you. Don't be afraid that I shall stuntit. I will give you a broad free life. You shall have room to develop, you shall live as you will, where you will, only give me the right toprotect you, to free you from all these petty material cares. " She laid her hand softly upon his. "Dear friend, " she said, "do you not think that you are breaking anunspoken compact? I am very sorry. In your heart you know quite wellthat all that you have said is useless. " "Ay, " he repeated, looking away from her. "Useless--worse thanuseless. " "You are foolish, " she declared, with a note of irritability in hertone. "You would appear to be trying to destroy a comradeship whichhas been very, very pleasant. For you know that I have made up my mindto dig a little way into life single-handed. I, too, want tounderstand--to walk with my head in the light. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. Let me go my own way towards them. We maymeet--who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you wouldmake the chains of roses. Listen. " She stopped short. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. Courtlaw rose to his feet. "It is too late for visitors, " she remarked. "I wonder would you mindseeing who it is. " Courtlaw crossed the room and threw open the door. He had come toAnna's rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. SirJohn, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl stillsitting in the shadow. "I believe, " he said stiffly, "that these are the apartments of MissPellissier. I must apologize for disturbing you at such an unseemlyhour, but I should be very much obliged if Miss Pellissier would allowme a few minutes' conversation. My name is Ferringhall--Sir JohnFerringhall. " _Chapter V_ "ALCIDE" Courtlaw took up his hat and coat at once, but Anna motioned him toremain. "Please stay, " she said briefly. "Will you come in, Sir John. Ibelieve that I have heard my sister speak of you. This is my friend, Mr. David Courtlaw--Sir John Ferringhall. " Sir John acknowledged the introduction without cordiality. He enteredthe room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him. He noticed the two chairs close together. Anna was still holding hercigarette between her fingers. Her likeness to her sister gave him atfirst almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of awonderful sense of relief. For if the likeness between the sisters wasremarkable, the likeness between this girl and the poster which he hadcome from studying was more remarkable still. "I must repeat, " Sir John said, "that I much regret disturbing you atsuch an unseemly hour. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. " "If your business with me is of any importance, " Anna said calmly, "itdoes not matter in the least about the hour. Have you brought me amessage from my sister? I understood, I believe, that she was seeingyou last night. " "Your sister, " he answered, "did me the honour of dining with me lastnight. " "Yes. " After all, it was not so easy. The girl's eyes never left his face. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor wouldleave. "I believe, " he said slowly, "that I shall do best to throw myselfupon your consideration and tell you the truth. I have recently madeyour sister's acquaintance, and in the course of conversation Iunderstood from her that her Christian name was Anna. Some friends whosaw us dining together persist in alluding to her as Miss AnnabelPellissier. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming toask you whether I misunderstood your sister. " "Is my sister's Christian name, then, of so much importance to you?"she asked with a faint smile. "The things involved in it are, " he answered gravely. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. "Let mehasten, " she said, "to reassure you. My sister was scarcely likely tomake a mistake. She told you--the truth. " Courtlaw's walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with acrash to the ground. He stooped to recover it, and his face washidden. Sir John felt and looked several years younger. "I am much obliged to you, " he said. "Really, I do not know why Ishould have doubted it. " "Nor I, " she remarked tersely. He looked at her with a certain curiosity. She was a very elegantyoung woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an airof reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner whichAnnabel may have lacked. It was hard to associate her with the storieswhich he and all Paris had heard of "Alcide. " "You, then, " he said, "are 'Alcide. ' That wonderful poster--is ofyou. " She lifted her eyebrows. "I am sorry, " she said, "if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. Myfriends consider it wonderfully faithful. Have you any more questionsto ask me?" Sir John, on his way down, had determined to hint to this young womanthat, providing certain contingencies which he had in his mind shouldcome to pass, he would be prepared to make her a handsome offer tochange her name. He found, however, that now the time had come heutterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech. "None, I thank you, " he answered. "I will not intrude upon youfurther. " "Wait, " she said. He turned back at once. "I have answered all your questions, " she said. "Perhaps you will notobject to answering one for me. You have thought it worth while totake some considerable pains to resolve for yourself my sister'sidentity. May I ask the nature of your interest in her?" He hesitated. "It is not an easy matter, " he said, "for me to offer you analtogether adequate explanation. I have only seen your sister for avery brief time, and I am a little past the age when a man doesheadstrong things. At the same time, I must say that I am most anxiousto improve my acquaintance with her. I am a single man, and----" "Thank you, " she interrupted. "I will not ask you to explain further. Good night. " He left at once, immensely relieved, yet scarcely satisfied withhimself as regarded his share of the interview with this young woman. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growingfainter and fainter. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a whitepuzzled face. "Why did you lie to that man?" he asked fiercely. "How dared you doyourself this injustice?" "I did it for her sake, " she answered. "It may be her salvation. Ibelieve that he will marry her. " "You would let him--knowing--all that you know?" "Why not? She is my flesh and blood. She is more dear to me thananything else. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, thingswould have been different. " "You! Why, you have been an angel to her, " he exclaimed impatiently. "You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to thebackbone. You have made enough sacrifices for her surely without this. Besides, you cannot tell where it will end. You have taken upon yourshoulders the burden of her misdeeds. You may have to carry themfurther and longer than you think. Oh, it is unbearable. " The man's face was dark with passion. It was as though he werepersonally aggrieved. His tone was rough, almost threatening. The girlonly smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a momentquietly upon his. "Dear friend, " she said, "this is a matter which you must leave to meto do as I think best. Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost myonly relative. If I do not look after her, she has no one. And she isvery young, younger than her years. " It was significant of her influence over him that he answered hercalmly, although a storm of angry thoughts were struggling forexpression within him. "Look after her! Why not? But you have done it all your life. You havebeen her guardian angel. But even you cannot alter her character. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. The pursuit of pleasure, self-gratification, is an original instinctwith her. Blood and bone, body and spirit, she is selfish through andthrough. Even you have not been able to hold her back. I speak no harmof her. She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. But----" A look checked him. "I know, " she said quietly, "that Paris, where she has been so muchadmired, is not a good place for her. That is why I am glad that shehas gone to London. " He rose from his chair, and walked restlessly up and down the room. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. There wasa black fear in his heart. He stopped before her suddenly. "You, too, " he said abruptly. "You mean to follow her. You will go toLondon?" "It is necessary, " she answered. "You yourself have decidedthat--apart from the question of Annabel. " He was suddenly calm. "It is part of the irony of life, " he said. "One is always playing thesurgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. I meant to lie toyou. Would to God I had. " She shook her head. "The surgeon's knife is surely a kindly weapon, " she declared. "It wasbest for me to know. Later on I could scarcely have forgiven you. " "And now--I am to lose you. " "For a little time, " she answered. "I meant to say good-bye to youto-night. Or, after all, is it worth while? The Channel is a littlebroader than the Boulevards--but one crosses it sometimes. " He looked at her with white, set face. "Yes, " he said, "I shall come. That is very certain. But, after all, it will be different. I think that I have become a drug drinker. Ineed you every day. In the mornings I find labour easy because I amgoing to see you. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to theirwork because you have been with me. Anna, you shall not go. I cannotlet you go. " She threw away the end of her cigarette. Without turning or lookingin his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon herfingers, her elbows upon her knees. She gazed steadily out of thewindow at that arc of glittering lights. He made a quick movementtowards her, but she did not flinch. His arm fell to his side. Theeffort of self-repression cost him a sob. "David, " she said, "you are not a coward, are you?" "I do not know, " he muttered. "The bravest of us have joints in ourarmour. " "You are not a coward, " she repeated, "or you would not be my friend. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makesno mistake. You are not a coward David, and you must not talk likeone. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. It is the only way. " "I cannot do it!" he cried hoarsely. "I cannot part with you. You havegrown into my life. Anna----" Again she stopped him, but this time it was not so easy. The man'spassion became almost unbearable at the thought of losing her. Andyet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him withoutstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in herwonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of herdetermination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could sayto her. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of hisown passionate love. He took her hands firmly in his and raised themto his lips. "You shall go, " he declared. "I will make of the days and weeks onelong morning, but remember the afternoon must come. Always rememberthat. " Her hands fell to her side. She remained for a few moments standing asthough listening to his retreating footsteps. Then she turned, andentering the inner room, commenced to dress hastily for the street. _Chapter VI_ A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at herkeenly through his gold eye-glasses. He sat before a desk littered allover with papers and official looking documents. The walls of the roomwere lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countlessbottles and many appliances of surgical science. A skeleton waspropped against the mantelpiece. The atmosphere seemed heavy with theodour of drugs. "You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?" he asked, without rising to hisfeet. Anna admitted the fact. "We sent for you several hours ago, " he remarked. "I came directly I was disengaged, " Anna answered. "In any case, thereis probably some mistake. I have very few friends in Paris. " He referred to a sheet of paper by his side. "Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of anEnglishman who was brought here late last night suffering from seriousinjuries, " he said in a dry official tone. "As it is doubtful whetherthe man will live, we should be glad if you would identify him. " "It is most unlikely that I shall be able to do so, " Anna answered. "To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance inthe city. " "My dear young lady, " the official said irritably, "this man would nothave your name and address in his pocket without an object. You cannottell whether you know him or not until you have seen him. Be so goodas to come this way. " With a little shrug of the shoulders Anna followed him. They ascendedby a lift to one of the upper floors, passed through a long ward, andfinally came to a bed in the extreme corner, round which a screen hadbeen arranged. A nurse came hurrying up. "He is quiet only this minute, " she said to the official. "All thetime he is shouting and muttering. If this is the young lady, she canperhaps calm him. " Anna stepped to the foot of the bed. An electric light flashed outfrom the wall. The face of the man who lay there was clearly visible. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shookher head. "I have never seen him in my life, " she said to the official. "I havenot the least idea who he is. " Just then the man's eyes opened. He saw the girl, and sprang up inbed. "Annabel at last, " he shouted. "Where have you been? All these hours Ihave been calling for you. Annabel, I was lying. Who says that I amnot Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. See, it is on my cards--M. Hill, Meysey Hill. Don't touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you've jammed it now. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. Stop it!" Anna stepped back bewildered, but the man held out his arms to her. "I tell you it was a lie!" he shouted wildly. "Can't you believe me? Iam Meysey Hill. I am the richest man in England. I am the richest manin the world. You love money. You know you do, Annabel. Never mind, I've got plenty. We'll go to the shops. Diamonds! You shall have allthat you can carry away, sacks full if you like. Pearls too! I meanit. I tell you I'm Meysey Hill, the railway man. Don't leave me. Don'tleave me in this beastly thing. Annabel! Annabel!" His voice became a shriek. In response to an almost imperative gesturefrom the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. He fell back upon thepillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. The perspiration stood out upon hisforehead. His eyes closed. Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. The hand whichthe man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. She heldit away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of herunconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. She began rubbingit with her pocket-handkerchief. The man himself was not a pleasantobject. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Such of hisfeatures as were visible were of coarse mould. His eyes were set tooclose together. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. Shefollowed the official back into his room. "Well?" he asked her tersely. "I can only repeat what I said before, " she declared. "To the best ofmy belief, I have never seen the man in my life. " "But he recognized you, " the official objected. "He fancied that he did, " she corrected him coolly. "I supposedelusions are not uncommon to patients in his condition. " The official frowned. "Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion, " he saidsharply. "I do not wish to make impertinent inquiries into yourprivate life. Nothing is of any concern of ours except the discoveryof the man's identity. He was picked up from amongst the wreckage of abroken motor on the road to Versailles last night, and we haveinformation that a lady was with him only a few minutes before theaccident occurred. " "You are very unbelieving, " Anna said coldly. "I hope you will notcompel me to say again that I do not know the man's name, nor, to thebest of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life. " The official shrugged his shoulders. "You decline to help us in any way, then, " he said. "Remember that theman will probably die. He had little money about him, and unlessfriends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper. " "I do not wish to seem unfeeling, " Anna said, slowly, "but I can onlyrepeat that I am absolutely without concern in the matter. The man isa stranger to me. " The official had no more to say. Only it was with a further and mostunbelieving shrug of the shoulders that he resumed his seat. "You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle, " he said curtly. "You have them both, " Anna answered. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. "It is possible, mademoiselle, " he said, "that this affair is not yetended. It may bring us together again. " She passed out without reply. Yet she took with her an uneasyconsciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of futuretrouble. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone's throw of herlodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. He stopped short with alittle exclamation of surprise. "My dear friend, " she laughed, "not so tragic, if you please. " He recovered himself. "I was surprised, I admit, " he said. "You did not tell me that youwere going out, or I would have offered my escort. Do you know howlate it is?" She nodded. "I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square, " she answered. "Iwas sent for to go to the Hospital St. Denis. But what are you doinghere?" "Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. I have been sitting with him ever since. The Hospital St. Denis, didyou say? I hope that no one of our friends has met with an accident. " She shook her head. "They wanted me to identify some one whom I had certainly never seenbefore in my life, and to tell you the truth, they were positivelyrude to me because I could not. Have you ever heard the name of MeyseyHill?" "Meysey Hill?" He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from histone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed somesignificance for him. "Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight, " he admitted. "Hewas a friend of your sister's, was he not?" "I never heard her mention his name, " she answered. "Still, of course, it is possible. This man was apparently not sure whether he was MeyseyHill or not. " "How long had he been in the hospital?" Courtlaw asked. "Since last night. " "Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill, " Courtlaw said. "Thatyoung man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Caféde Paris to-day. I sat within a few feet of him. I feel almostinclined to regret the fact. " "Why?" she asked. "If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true, " he answered, "I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. " "Isn't that a little extreme?" "I am an extreme person at times. This man has an evil reputation. Iknow of scandalous deeds which he has done. " Anna had reached the house where she lodged, but she hesitated on thedoorstep. "Have you ever seen Annabel with him?" she asked. "Never. " "It is odd that this man at the hospital should call himself MeyseyHill, " she remarked. "If you wish, " he said, "I will go there in the morning and see whatcan be done for him. " "It would be very kind of you, " she declared. "I am only sorry that Idid not ask you to go with me. " She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted tothe tall, gloomy lodging-house. And ever after it struck him that herbackward smile as she disappeared was charged with some specialsignificance. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told thatMademoiselle had left. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribescould gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was--London. _Chapter VII_ MISS PELLISSIER'S SUSPICIONS "Anna!" Anna kissed her sister and nodded to her aunt. Then she satdown--uninvited--and looked from one to the other curiously. There wassomething about their greeting and the tone of Annabel's exclamationwhich puzzled her. "I wish, " she said, "that you would leave off looking at me as thoughI were something grisly. I am your very dutiful niece, aunt, and yourmost devoted sister, Annabel. I haven't murdered any one, or brokenthe law in any way that I know of. Perhaps you will explain the stateof panic into which I seem to have thrown you. " Annabel, who was looking very well, and who was most becominglydressed, moved to a seat from which she could command a view of theroad outside. She was the first to recover herself. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was stillsitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to hersister. "For one thing, Anna, " she remarked, "we had not the slightest ideathat you had left, or were leaving Paris. You did not say a word aboutit last week, nor have you written. It is quite a descent from theclouds, isn't it?" "I will accept that, " Anna said, "as accounting for the surprise. Perhaps you will now explain the alarm. " Miss Pellissier was beginning to recover herself. She too at oncedeveloped an anxious interest in the street outside. "I am sure, Anna, " she said, "I do not see why we should conceal thetruth from you. We are expecting a visit from Sir John Ferringhall atany moment. He is coming here to tea. " "Well?" Anna remarked calmly. "Sir John, " her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, "is coming to seeyour sister. " Anna drummed impatiently with her fingers against the arm of herchair. "Well!" she declared good-humouredly. "I shan't eat him. " Miss Pellissier stiffened visibly. "This is not a matter altogether for levity, Anna, " she said. "Yoursister's future is at stake. I imagine that even you must realize thatthis is of some importance. " Anna glanced towards her sister, but the latter avoided her eyes. "I have always, " she admitted calmly, "taken a certain amount ofinterest in Annabel's future. I should like to know how it isconcerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes. " "Sir John, " Miss Pellissier said impressively, "has asked your sisterto be his wife. It is a most wonderful piece of good fortune, as Isuppose you will be prepared to admit. The Ferringhalls are of coursewithout any pretence at family, but Sir John is a very rich man, andwill be able to give Annabel a very enviable position in the world. The settlements which he has spoken of, too, are most munificent. Nowonder we are anxious that nothing should happen to make him changehis mind. " "I still----" Anna stopped short. Suddenly she understood. She grew perhaps a shadepaler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheelercab, laden with luggage, was still waiting. "Sir John of course disapproves of me, " she remarked slowly. "Sir John is a man of the world, " her aunt answered coldly. "Henaturally does not wish for connexions which are--I do not wish tohurt you feelings, Anna, but I must say it--not altogether desirable. " The irrepressible smile curved Anna's lips. She glanced towards hersister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflectionof her own rather sombre mirth. She leaned back in her chair. It wasno use. The smile had become a laugh. She laughed till the tears stoodin her eyes. "I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms, " she said. "Did he tell you, Annabel?" "Yes. " "He mentioned the matter to me also, " Miss Pellissier remarkedstiffly. "The visit seems to have made a most painful impression uponhim. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon thesubject. " Anna sprang up. "I will be off, " she declared. "My cab with all that luggage wouldgive the whole show away. Good-bye, aunt. " Miss Pellissier tried ineffectually to conceal her relief. "I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna, " she said hesitatingly. "And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I amsorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet thanhers. But at the same time, I must say plainly that I think yourpresence here just now would be a great misfortune. I wish very muchthat you had written before leaving Paris. " Anna nodded. "Quite right, " she said. "I ought to have done. Good-bye aunt. I'llcome and see you again later on. Annabel, come to the door with me, "she added a little abruptly. "There is something which I must say toyou. " Annabel rose and followed her sister from the room. A maidservant heldthe front door open. Anna sent her away. "Annabel, " she said brusquely. "Listen to me. " "Well?" "Sir John came to me--that you know--and you can guess what I toldhim. No, never mind about thanking me. I want to ask you a plainquestion, and you must answer me faithfully. Is all that folly donewith--for ever?" Annabel shivered ever so slightly. "Of course it is, Anna. You ought to know that. I am going to make afresh start. " "Be very sure that you do, " Anna said slowly. "If I thought for amoment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here andtell him the truth even now. " Annabel looked at her with terrified eyes. "Anna, " she cried, "you must believe me. I am really in earnest. Iwould not have him know--now--for the world. " "Very well, " Anna said. "I will believe you. Remember that he's not atall a bad sort, and to speak frankly, he's your salvation. Try and lethim never regret it. There's plenty to be got out of life in a decentsort of way. Be a good wife to him. You can if you will. " "I promise, " Annabel declared. "He is very kind, Anna, really, and nothalf such a prig as he seems. " Anna moved towards the door, but her sister detained her. "Won't you tell me why you have come to England?" she said. "It wassuch a surprise to see you. I thought that you loved Paris and yourwork so much. " A momentary bitterness crept into Anna's tone. "I have made no progress with my work, " she said slowly, "and themoney was gone. I had to ask Mr. Courtlaw for his true verdict, and hegave it me. I have given up painting. " "Anna!" "It is true, dear. After all there are other things. All that I regretare the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. Only ofcourse I must begin something else at once. That is why I came toLondon. " "But what are you going to do--where are you going to live?" Annabelasked. "Have you any money?" "Lots, " Anna answered laconically. "Never mind me. I always fall on myfeet, you know. " "You will let us hear from you--let us know where you are, very soon?"Annabel called out from the step. Anna nodded as she briskly crossed the pavement. "Some day, " she answered. "Run in now. There's a hansom coming roundthe corner. " * * * * * Anna sat back in her cab, but found it remain stationary. "Gracious!" she exclaimed to herself. "I don't know where to go to. " The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament. "Drive towards St. Pancras, " she directed, promptly. "I will tell youwhen to stop. " The cab rumbled off. Anna leaned forward, watching the people in thestreets. It was then for the first time she remembered that she hadsaid nothing to her sister of the man in the hospital. _Chapter VIII_ "WHITE'S" Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbledthe ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezyold horse rapidly approaching its last days. Inside was Anna, leaninga little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to thebrim of the insatiable curiosity of youth--the desire to understandand appreciate this new world in which she found herself. She waspractically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to herfuture, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. Shewatched the people and hummed softly to herself. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. "Please stop, cabman, " she ordered. The man pulled up. It was not a difficult affair. "Is this Montague Street, W. C. ?" she asked. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but couldnot. "Stay where you are for a moment, " she directed. "I want to find anaddress. " The man contented himself with a nod. Anna rummaged about in herdressing-case, and finally drew out a letter. On the envelope waswritten-- Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. , 13, Montague St. She put her head out of the window. "Number 13, please, cabman. " "We've come past it, miss, " the man answered, with a note of finalityin his gruff voice. "Then turn round and go back there, " she directed. The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. Hishorse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain wherehe was. After a certain amount of manoeuvring, however, he wasinduced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop againbefore a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis ofcolour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. This was number13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as"White's. " Anna promptly alighted with the letter in her hand. The door wasopened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket severalsizes too large for him. The rest of his attire was nondescript. "Does Mr. Courtlaw, Mr. Sydney Courtlaw, live here, please?" Annaasked him. "Not home yet, miss, " the young man replied. "Generally gets hereabout seven. " Anna hesitated, and then held out the letter. "I think that I will leave this letter for him, " she said. "It is fromhis brother in Paris. Say that I will call again or let him know myaddress in London. " The young man accepted the letter and the message, and seemed about toclose the door when a lady issued from one of the front rooms andintervened. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a hugechatelaine. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a verycreditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. Under thesomewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to arecent use of the powder puff. "I think that you were inquiring for Mr. Courtlaw, " she remarked. "Heis one of our guests--perhaps I should say boarders here, but heseldom returns before dinner-time. We dine at seven-thirty. Can I givehim any message for you?" "Thank you, " Anna answered. "I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. " "I will see that he gets it immediately on his return, " the ladypromised. "You did not wish to see him particularly this evening, then?" Anna hesitated. "Well, no, " she answered. "To tell you the truth though, I am quite astranger in London, and it occurred to me that Mr. Courtlaw might havebeen able to give me an idea where to stop. " The lady in black satin looked at the pile of luggage outside andhesitated. "Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or anhotel?" she asked. "I really had not thought about it at all, " Anna answered smiling. "Iexpected to stay with a relation, but I found that their arrangementsdid not allow of it. I have been used to living in apartments inParis, but I suppose the system is different here. " The lady in black satin appeared undecided. She looked from Anna, whowas far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to thatreassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. "Of course, " she said diffidently, "this is a boarding-house, althoughwe never take in promiscuous travellers. The class of guests we haveare all permanent, and I am obliged to be very careful indeed. But--ifyou are a friend of Mr. Courtlaw's--I should like to oblige Mr. Courtlaw. " "It is very nice of you to think of it, " Anna said briskly. "I shouldreally like to find somewhere to stay, if it was only for a fewnights. " The lady stood away from the door. "Will you come this way, " she said, "into the drawing-room? There isno one there just now. Most of my people are upstairs dressing fordinner. The gentlemen are so particular now, and a good thing too, Isay. I was always used to it, and I think it gives quite a tone to anestablishment. Please sit down, Miss--dear me, I haven't asked youyour name yet. " "My name is Pellissier, " Anna said, "Anna Pellissier. " "I am Mrs. White, " the lady in black satin remarked. "It makes onefeel quite awkward to mention such a thing, but after all I think thatit is best for both parties. Could you give me any references?" "There is Mr. Courtlaw, " Anna said, "and my solicitors, Messrs. LeMercier and Stowe of St. Heliers. They are rather a long way off, butyou could write to them. I am sorry that I do not know any one inLondon. But after all, Mrs. White, I am not sure that I could affordto come to you. I am shockingly poor. Please tell me what your termsare. " "Well, " Mrs. White said slowly, "it depends a good deal upon whatrooms you have. Just now my best ones are all taken. " "So much the better, " Anna declared cheerfully. "The smallest will dofor me quite well. " Mrs. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be surethat no one was listening. "I should like you to come here, " she said. "It's a great deal for ayoung lady who's alone in the world, as I suppose you are at present, to have a respectable home, and I do not think in such a case thatprivate apartments are at all desirable. We have a very nice set ofyoung people here too just at present, and you would soon make somefriends. I will take you for thirty-five shillings a week. Pleasedon't let any one know that. " "I have no idea what it costs to live in London, " Anna said, "but Ishould like very much to come for a short time if I might. " "Certainly, " Mrs. White said. "Two days' notice shall be sufficient oneither side. " "And I may bring my luggage in and send that cabman away?" Anna asked. "Dear me, what a relief! If I had had any nerves that man would havetrampled upon them long ago. " "Cabmen are so trying, " Mrs. White assented. "You need have no furthertrouble. The manservant shall bring your trunks in and pay the faretoo, if you like. " Anna drew out her purse at once. "You are really a good Samaritan, " she declared. "I am perfectlycertain that that man meant to be rude to me. He has been bottling itup all the way from West Kensington. " Mrs. White rang the bell. "Come upstairs, " she said, "and I will show you your room. And wouldyou mind hurrying a little. You won't want to be late the firstevening, and it's ten minutes past seven now. Gracious, there's thegong. This way, my dear--and--you'll excuse my mentioning it, but aquiet blouse and a little chiffon, you know, will be quite sufficient. It's your first evening, and early impressions do count for so much. You understand me, I'm sure. " Anna was a little puzzled, but she only laughed. "Perhaps, as I've only just arrived, " she remarked, "I might beforgiven if I do not change my skirt. I packed so hurriedly that itwill take me a long time to find my things. " "Certainly, " Mrs. White assured her. "Certainly. I'll mention it. You're tired, of course. This is your room. The gong will go atseven-thirty. Don't be late if you can help it. " * * * * * Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered thedrawing-room. It was not a hopeful looking group. Two or threepodgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressedgirls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore theclothes in which they had been tramping half over London sincebreakfast time. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple ofpronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in someunintelligible jargon of the City. What had she to do with such asthese? She had hard work to keep a smiling face, as Mrs. White, whohad risen to greet her, proceeded with a formal, and from Anna's pointof view, a wholly unnecessary round of introductions. And thensuddenly--a relief. A young man--almost a boy, slight, dark, and withhis brother's deep grey eyes--came across the room to her. "You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much, "he said, shyly. "I am very glad that you have come here. I heard fromDavid about you only this morning. " "You are marvellously like your brother, " Anna said, beaming upon him. "I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. Where can we sitdown and talk?" He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. "Let me introduce my friend to you, " Courtlaw said. "Arthur, this isMiss Pellissier--Mr. Brendon. Brendon and I are great chums, " he wenton nervously. "We are clerks in the same bank. I don't think that therest of the people here like us very well, do they, Arthur, so we'reobliged to be friends. " Anna shook hands with Brendon--a young man also, but older and moreself-possessed than Sydney Courtlaw. "Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier, " he said. "He and I don'tseem to get on at all with our fellow-guests, as Mrs. White callsthem. You really ought not to stay here and talk to us. It is a mostinauspicious start for you. " "Dear me, " Anna laughed, "how unfortunate! What ought I to do? ShouldI be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein ofwool for the old lady in the yellow cap?" "Don't speak of her irreverently, " Brendon said, in an awed whisper. "Her husband was a county councillor, and she has a niece who comes tosee her in a carriage. I wish she wouldn't look like that at us overher glasses. " Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of acorrectly garbed waiter, threw open the door. "Dinner is served, ma'am, " he announced to Mrs. White. There was no rush. Everything was done in a genteel and ordinary way, but on the other hand, there was no lingering. Anna found herself nextSydney Courtlaw, with his friend close at hand. Opposite to her was asallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge ofobtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and toeverybody throughout the whole of the meal--to-night he was almostsilent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. After the first courses however she scarcely noticed him. Her two newfriends did their best to entertain her. "I can't imagine, Miss Pellissier, " Brendon said, leaning towards her, "whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at aMontague Street boarding-house. Are you going to write a novel?" "Not I, " she answered gaily. "I came to London unexpectedly, and myfriends could not take me in. I had a vague sort of idea that this wasthe region where one finds apartments, so I told my cabman to drive inthis direction while I sat inside his vehicle and endeavoured to forma plan of campaign. He brought me past this house, and I thought Iwould call and leave your brother's letter. Then I saw Mrs. White----" "No more, " Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. "You were booked ofcourse. An unexpected vacancy, wasn't it? Every one comes in onunexpected vacancy. " "And they go?" "When they get the chance. It really isn't so easy to go as it seems. We have come to the conclusion, Brendon and I, that Mrs. White ispsychologically gifted. She throws a sort of spell over us all. Westruggle against it at first, but in the end we have to submit. Shecalls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. We simplycan't get away. There's that old gentleman at the end of thetable--Bullding his name is. He will tell you confidentially that hesimply hates the place. Yet he's been here for six years, and he's asmuch a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. Everyone will grumbleto you confidentially--Miss Ellicot, she's our swagger young lady, youknow--up there, next to Miss White, she will tell you that it is soout of the world here, so far away from everyone one knows. OldKesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse thecooking till he's black in the face, but he never misses a dinner. The Semitic looking young man opposite, who seems to have beencommitting you to memory piecemeal, will tell you that he was never sobored in all his life as he has been here. Yet he stays. They allstay!" "And you yourself?" Brendon laughed. "Oh, we are also under the spell, " he declared, "but I think that weare here mainly because it is cheap. It is really cheap, you know. Toappreciate it you should try rooms. " "Is this a fair sample of the dinner?" Anna asked, who had the healthyappetite of a strong young woman. "It is, if anything, a little above the average, " Brendon admitted. Anna said nothing. The young man opposite was straining his ears tolisten to their conversation. Mrs. White caught her eye, and smiledbenignly down the table. "I hope that Mr. Courtlaw is looking after you, Miss Pellissier, " shesaid. "Admirably, thank you, " Anna answered. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to heras Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess's side. She had veryfrizzy hair indeed, very black eyebrows, a profusion of metallicadornments about her neck and waist, and an engaging smile. "We are so interested to hear, Miss Pellissier, " she said, "that youhave been living in Paris. We shall expect you to tell us all what towear. " Anna smiled very faintly, and shook her head. "I have come from a very unfashionable quarter, " she said, "and I donot think that I have been inside a milliner's shop for a year. Besides, it is all reversed now, you know. Paris copies London. " Brendon leaned over confidentially. "You are in luck, Miss Pellissier, " he declared. "Your success here isabsolutely meteoric. Miss Ellicot has spoken to you, the great Mr. Bullding is going to. For five minutes he has been trying to think ofsomething to say. I am not sure, but I believe that he has justthought of something. " "May I be prepared?" Anna asked. "Which is Mr. Bullding?" "Stout old gentleman four places down on the left. Look out, it'scoming. " Anna raised her eyes, and caught the earnest gaze of an elderlygentleman with a double chin, a protuberant under lip, and asnuff-stained coat. "I was in Paris four years ago, " Mr. Building announced solemnly. "Itrained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the placenever seemed dull. " "It takes a great deal of bad weather to depress the true Parisian, "Anna admitted. "A volatile temperament--yes, a volatile temperament, " Mr. Bulldingrepeated, rather struck with the phrase. "It is a pity that as nationswe are not more friendly. " Anna nodded and turned again to Courtlaw. "I will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr. Bullding, " shedeclared. "I believe that he would bore me. Tell me, what are thesebananas and nuts for?" "Dessert. " Anna laid down her serviette. "Let us escape, " she said. "Couldn't we three go out and have somecoffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. " Brendon laughed softly. "We can, " he said, "and we will. But it is only fair to warn you thatit isn't expected. Mrs. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blindsup, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp--a sort of advertisementof the place, you know. Strangers look in and long, and neighbours aremoved to envy. " Anna hesitated no longer. She almost sprang to her feet. Conscious ofMrs. White's surprise as she swung easily down the room, followed bythe two young men, she smiled a careless explanation at her. "I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. White, " sheremarked. "You are not going out--this evening, I trust, " that lady asked, atrifle dismayed. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightlylifted eyebrows. "Why not? They tell me that London is impossible till after ten, and Iwant my first impressions to be favourable. " "There will be some coffee and music in the drawing-room in a fewminutes, " Mrs. White said. "Thanks, I'm not very fond of coffee, " Anna answered, "and I hatemusic. Good night. " Mrs. White gasped, and then stiffened. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Anna passed serenely out. _Chapter IX_ BRENDON'S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. She was alone, and themask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. Shewas a little paler than when she had come to London, a little palerand a little thinner. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft nowwith unshed tears. For this three weeks had been the hardest of herlife. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and althoughshe hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. "There is one thing I must concentrate on at the moment, " she toldherself, "and that is how to pay my next week's bill to Mrs. White. Itought not to be much. I have gone without dinner for three nights, and--come in. " Sydney Courtlaw followed his timid knock. Anna raised her eyebrows atthe sight of him. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat andwhite tie. "Is this a concession to Mrs. White?" she asked, laughing. "Howgratified she must have been! If only I had known I would have made aneffort to get home in time for dinner. " "Not exactly, " he answered nervously. "Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for threenights, and--Brendon and I--we were afraid that you might be unwell. " "Never better in my life, " Anna declared briskly. "I had lunch verylate to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner. " She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch--tea and roll at acheap café. Sydney was watching her eagerly. "I'm glad you're all right, " he said, "because we want you to do us afavour. Brendon's had an awful stroke of luck. " "I'm delighted, " she exclaimed. "Do tell me all about it. " "He only heard this afternoon, " Sydney continued. "An uncle in NewYork is dead, and has left him loads of money. A lawyer has come allthe way from America about it. We want to celebrate, and we want youto help us. Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton. We meant to makeit dinner and a theatre, but you were not home. We thought ofstarting in half an hour's time, and trying for a theatre somewhere onthe way. " "How delightful!" exclaimed Anna. "I should love to come. It is verysweet of you to have waited for me. Run away now, please. I must seeif I have a gown fit to wear. " * * * * * "This, " Anna declared, as she sipped her wine and looked around her, "reminds me more of Paris than any place I have yet seen. I suppose itis the mirrors and decorations. " "And the people?" Brendon asked. "What do you think of them?" Anna extended her critical survey and shrugged her shoulders. "What can one say?" she exclaimed. "Did you ever see women soweary-looking and so dowdy? They do not talk. They seem to spend theirtime yawning and inspecting their neighbour's dresses through thosehateful glasses. It never seems to enter their heads to try and amusetheir menkind. " Two young men on their way down the room came suddenly to a standstillbefore Anna. The foremost, tall, clean-shaven, perfectly groomed, halfextended his hand with a smile of recognition. "Miss Pellissier, isn't it?" he said. "Glad to see you in London. Noidea that you were here, though. " Anna looked up with a doubtful smile of non-recognition. "My name is certainly Pellissier, " she said, "but I am very sorry--Ido not recognize you in the least. " The tall young man dropped his eye-glass and smiled. "Had the pleasure of dining with you at the 'Ambassador's' one night, before the show, you know--last September I think it was. CharleyPevenill was our host. My name is Armytage--Lord Ernest Armytage. " Anna had suddenly stiffened. She regarded the young man coldly. Hertone was icy. "I am afraid that you are making a mistake, " she said. "I was never atany such dinner, and I am quite sure that I do not know you. " "Perhaps you remember me, Miss Pellissier, " the second young maninterposed. "I had the pleasure of--er--meeting you more than once, Ibelieve. " A spot of colour flared in Anna's cheek as she glanced towards thespeaker. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of hisdeferential tone, maddened her. "To the best of my belief, " she said, with quiet dignity, "I havenever seen either of you before in my life. " For a fraction of a second the two young men hesitated. Then theforemost bowed and passed on. "I am exceedingly sorry, " he said. "Pray accept my apologies. " "And mine, " murmured his companion, with the smile still lingeringupon his lips. They took their places at a distant table. Anna sat quite still for amoment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. Shelaughed softly, and leaned across the table. "Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you, " she begged. "Those youngmen startled me at first, because they knew my name. I am quite surethough that they did not mean to be rude. " "Impudent beggars, " Sydney growled. "I never wanted to kick any one somuch in my life as that second fellow. " "I think, " Anna said, "that it was only his manner. Do look at thistragedy in mauve, who has just come in. What can she be? The wife of acountry tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. What can she have done to deserve such a fate? Oh!" They both turned round at Anna's exclamation. A familiar figure wasmaking his way towards them. Sydney sprang up. "Why, it's David!" he exclaimed. "Hullo!" Courtlaw, haggard, his deep-set eyes more brilliant than ever, tookAnna's hand into his, and breathed a little close drawn sigh ofcontent. He was introduced to Brendon, and a chair was brought by anattentive waiter. He declined supper, but took wine. "Have you dropped from the skies?" Sydney asked wonderingly. "It wasonly yesterday I had your letter, and you never mentioned comingover. " "I had some unexpected business, " Courtlaw answered shortly. "And how did you find us here?" "I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. Mrs. White told me where to find you. " He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. Yet either the rest orthe wine seemed already to have done him good. The lines about hismouth gradually softened. He talked very little and rather absently. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the littleparty. But when they were on their way out he whispered in Anna's ear. "Please let me drive you home. I want to talk to you, and I mustreturn to-morrow. " Anna hesitated. "We are Mr. Brendon's guests, " she said, "and I scarcely think itwould be nice of me to leave him alone with Sydney. " Courtlaw turned abruptly to Brendon. "Mr. Brendon, " he said, "may I rob you of your guest just for thedrive home? I have only a few hours in England, and Miss Pellissier isan old friend. " "By all means, " Brendon answered. "We will follow you in another cab. " They passed out on to the pavement, and the commissionaire called ahansom. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, andas he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into herhand. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. It was a letter. Sheslipped it calmly into her pocket. The commissionaire smiled. It was asovereign easily earned. The hansom drove off. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized andimprisoned in Courtlaw's burning fingers. She glanced into his face. It was enough. "I have stood it for a month, Anna, " he exclaimed. "You will not evenanswer my letters. I could not keep away any longer. " "Do you think that it was wise of you, or kind to come?" she askedquietly. "Wise! Kind! What mockery words are! I came because I had to. I cannotlive without you, Anna. Come back--you must come back. We can bemarried to-morrow in Paris. There! You are trying to take your handaway. " "You disappoint me, " she said wearily. "You are talking like a boy. What is the use of it? I do not wish to marry you. I do not wish toreturn to Paris. You are doing your best to break our friendship. " "It is you, " he cried, "you, who are talking folly, when you speak offriendship between you and me. It is not the woman who speaks there. It is the vapouring school girl. I tell you that I love you, Anna, andI believe that you love me. You are necessary to me. I shall give youmy life, every moment and thought of my life. You must come back. Seewhat you have made of me. I cannot work, I cannot teach. You havegrown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. " Anna was silent. She was trembling a little. The man's passion wasinfectious. She had to school herself to speak the words which sheknew would cut him like a knife. "You are mistaken, David. I have counted you, and always hoped tocount you, the best of my friends. But I do not love you. I do notlove any one. " "I don't believe it, " he answered hoarsely. "We have come too closetogether for me to believe it. You care for me a little, I know. Iwill teach you how to make that little sufficient. " "You came to tell me this?" "I came for you, " he declared fiercely. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. Anna suddenly leanedforward and looked around her. "We are not going the right way, " she exclaimed. "You are coming my way, " Courtlaw answered. "Anna, " he pleaded, "bemerciful. You care for me just a little, I know. You are alone in theworld, you have no one save yourself to consider. Come back with meto-night. Your old rooms are there, if you choose. I kept them onmyself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness ofit all nearly sent me mad. " Anna lifted her hand and pushed open the trap door. "Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman, " she ordered. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. Courtlaw satwith folded arms. He said nothing. "My friend, " she said, "no! Let me tell you this. Nothing would induceme to marry you, or any man at present. I am a pauper, and as yet Ihave not discovered how to earn money. I am determined to fight my ownlittle battle with the world--there must be a place for me somewhere, and I mean to find it. Afterwards, it may be different. If I were tomarry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life--a sort ofparasitical creature without blood or muscle. I should lose everyscrap of independence--even my self-respect. However good you were tome, and however happy I was in other ways, I should find thisintolerable. " "All these things, " he muttered bitterly, "this desperate resolve totake your life into your own hands, your unnatural craving forindependence, would never trouble you for a moment--if you reallycared. " "Then perhaps, " she answered, with a new coldness in her tone, "perhaps I really do not care. No, don't interrupt me. I think that Iam a little disappointed in you. You appear to be amongst those strongenough in all ordinary matters, but who seem to think it quitenatural and proper to give in at once and play the weaklingdirectly--one cares. Do you think that it makes for happiness to forceoneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in theworld worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence, self-respect, one's whole scheme of life. I cannot do it, David. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care--but I cannot do it. " He was strangely silent. He did not even reply to her for severalminutes. "I cannot reason with you, " he said at last wearily. "I speak from myheart, and you answer from your brain. " "Believe me that I have answered you wisely, " she said, in a gentlertone, "wisely for you too, as well as myself. And now you must goback, take up your work and think all this over. Presently you willsee that I am right, and then you shall take your vacation over here, and we will be good comrades again. " He smiled bitterly as he handed her from the cab. He declined to comein. "Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning, " he said. "Iam staying at the Savoy. He can come round there. " "You will shake hands with me, please, " she begged. He took her fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. Something he sawthere made him feel for a moment ashamed. He pressed the long shapelyhand warmly in his. "Good-bye, " he said earnestly. "Please forgive me. You are right. Quite right. " She was able to go straight to her room without delay, and she at oncelocked the door with a little sigh of relief. She found herselfstruggling with a storm of tears. A sob was strangled in her throat. She struggled fiercely not to giveway. "Oh, I am lonely, " she moaned. "I am lonely. If I could but----" * * * * * To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tuneto herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobskept rising in her throat. As she drew off her skirt she feltsomething in the pocket, and remembered the letter which thecommissionaire at the Carlton had given her. She tore open theenvelope and read it. "MY DEAR GIRL, -- "I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. The fact is I was so glad to see you again that it never occurred to me that a little discretion might be advisable. I'm afraid I'm a terribly clumsy fellow. "I hope that you are going to allow me to see something of you during your stay in London, for the sake of old times. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. May we not repeat them once, at any rate, in London? "Ever yours, "NIGEL ENNISON. "P. S. My address is 94, Pall Mall. " Anna read, and her cheeks grew slowly scarlet. She crushed the letterin her hand. "I wonder, " she murmured to herself, "if this is the beginning. " _Chapter X_ THE TRAGEDY OF AN APPETITE Anna, notwithstanding her quiet clothes, a figure marvellously out ofaccord with her surroundings, sat before a small marble-topped tableat a crowded A. B. C. , and munched a roll and butter with heartyappetite. "If only I could afford another!" she thought regretfully. "I wonderwhy I am always hungry nowadays. It is so ridiculous. " She lingered over her tea, and glancing around, a sudden reflection onthe change in her surroundings from the scene of her last night'ssupper brought a faint, humorous smile to her lips. "In two days, " she reflected, "Mrs. White will present her bill. Ihave one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny left. I have two days inwhich to earn nearly thirty shillings--that is with no dinners, andget a situation. I fancy that this is a little more than playing atBohemianism. " "So far, " she continued, eyeing hungrily the last morsel of roll whichlay upon her plate, "my only chance of occupation has lain with aphotographer who engaged me on the spot and insulted me in half anhour. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories arestill wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figurebecause business was so bad. I am no use for a clerk, because I do notunderstand shorthand. After all, I fancy that I shall have to applyfor a situation as a nursery governess who understands French. Faugh!" She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately betweenher long slim fingers. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excusefor remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. Sherose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses orthe tube. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which hadalready taken her half over London, she never admitted it. Asking herway once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, andcrossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Here she walked moreslowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. One sheentered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receiveunmoved. But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth wereclenched, and she carried herself unconsciously an inch or so higher. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, _debonnair_, good-looking. Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. His manner wasdeferential, even eager. Anna, who was disposed to be sharplycritical, could find no fault with it. "How fortunate I am, Miss Pellissier! All day I have been hoping thatI might run across you. You got my note?" "I certainly received a note, " Anna admitted. "You were going to answer it?" "Certainly not!" she said deliberately. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. "What have I done, Miss Pellissier?" he pleaded. "We were good friendsin Paris, weren't we? You made me all sorts of promises, we plannedno end of nice things, and then--without a word to any one youdisappeared. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. Youseem altogether altered, too. Upon my word--you are Miss Pellissier, aren't you?" "I certainly am, " she admitted. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. "Of course!" he said. "You have changed somehow--and you certainly areless friendly. " She laughed. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. "Perhaps, " she said, "it is the London climate. It depresses one, youknow. " He nodded. "You look more like your old self when you smile, " he remarked. "But, forgive me, you are tired. Won't you come and have some tea with me?There is a new place in Bond Street, " he hastened to say, "whereeverything is very well done, and they give us music, if that is anyattraction to you. " She hesitated and looked for a moment straight into his eyes. Hecertainly bore inspection. He was tall and straight, and hisexpression was good. "I will come--with pleasure, " she said, "if you will promise to treatme as a new acquaintance--not to refer to--Paris--at all. " "I promise, " he answered heartily. "Allow me. " He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, theshops and people. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, andeverything was delicious. Anna, with her marvellous capacity forenjoyment, ate cakes and laughed, and forgot that she had had tea anhour or so ago at an A. B. C. , or that she had a care in the world. "By-the-bye, " he said, presently, "your sister was married to oldFerringhall the other day, wasn't she? I saw the notice in thepapers. " Anna never flinched. But after the first shock came a warm glow ofrelief. After all, it was what she had been praying for--and Annabelcould not have known her address. "My sister and I, " she said slowly, "have seen very little of eachother lately. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me. " Ennison shrugged his shoulders. "Sort of man who can see no further than his nose, " he remarkedcontemptuously. "Fearful old fogey! I can't imagine any sister ofyours putting up with him for a moment. I thought perhaps you werestaying with them, as you did not seem particularly anxious torecognize your old friends. " Anna shook her head. "No, I am alone, " she answered. "Then we must try and make London endurable for you, " he remarkedcheerfully. "What night will you dine and go to the theatre withme?--and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?" Anna shook her head. "Thank you, " she said coolly. "Those things are not for me just atpresent. " He was obviously puzzled. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sisterhad simply revelled in her indiscretions. "Come, " he said, "you can't be meaning to bury yourself. There must besomething we can do. What do you say to Brighton----" Anna looked at him quietly--and he never finished his sentence. "May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?" he inquireddeferentially. "Perhaps your engagements are made for you. " "I am staying, " she answered coolly, "at a small boarding-house nearRussell Square. " He dropped his eye-glass with a clatter. "At a boarding-house?" he gasped. She nodded. "Yes. I am an independent sort of person, " she continued, "and I amengaged in an attempt to earn my own living. You don't happen to knowof any one, I suppose, who wants a nursery governess, or aclerk--without shorthand--or a tryer-on, or a copyist, or----" "For Heaven's sake stop, Miss Pellissier, " he interrupted. "What ahideous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money, why on earth don't you accept an engagement here?" "An engagement?" she queried. "On the stage? Yes. You would not have the slightest difficulty. " She laughed softly to herself. "Do you know, " she confessed, "I never thought of that?" He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she couldpossibly be in earnest. "I cannot conceive, " he said, "how any other occupation could everhave occurred to you. You do not need me to remind you of your successat Paris. The papers are continually wondering what has become of'Alcide. ' Your name alone would fill any music hall in London. " Again that curious smile which puzzled him so much parted her lips fora moment. "Dear me, " she said, "I fancy you exaggerate my fame. I can't imagineLondoners--particularly interested in me. " He shrugged his shoulders. Even now he was not at all sure that shewas not playing with him. There were so many things about her which hecould not understand. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. "I am very much obliged for the tea, " she said. "This is a charmingplace, and I have enjoyed the rest. " "It was a delightful piece of good fortune that I should have metyou, " he answered. "I hope that whatever your plans may be, you willgive me the opportunity of seeing something of you now and then. " "I am afraid, " she said, preceding him down the narrow stairs, "that Iam going to be too busy to have much time for gadding about. However, I daresay that we shall come across one another before long. " "That is provokingly indefinite, " he answered, a little ruefully. "Won't you give me your address?" She shook her head. "It is such a very respectable boarding-house, " she said. "I feelquite sure that Mrs. White would not approve of callers. " "I have a clue, at any rate, " he remarked, smiling. "I must try theDirectory. " "I wish you good luck, " she answered. "There are a good many Whites inLondon. " "May I put you in a hansom?" he asked, lifting his stick. "For Heaven's sake, no, " she answered quickly. "Do you want to ruinme? I shall walk back. " "I may come a little way, then?" he begged. "If you think it worth while, " she answered doubtfully. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. Restraining with aneffort his intense curiosity, he talked of general subjects only, trying his best to entertain her. He succeeded so well that they werealmost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. "Heavens!" she exclaimed. "I have brought you very nearly to my door. Go back at once, please. " He held out his hand obediently. "I'll go, " he said, "but I warn you that I shall find you out. " For a moment she was grave. "Well, " she said. "I may be leaving where I am in a few days, so verylikely you will be no better off. " He looked at her intently. "Miss Pellissier, " he said, "I don't understand this change in you. Every word you utter puzzles me. I have an idea that you are in somesort of trouble. Won't you let me--can't I be of any assistance?" He was obviously in earnest. His tone was kind and sympathetic. "You are very good, " she said. "Indeed I shall not forget your offer. But just now there is nothing which you or anybody can do. Good-bye. " He was dismissed, and he understood it. Anna crossed the street, andletting herself in at No. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly upto her room. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until shehad taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner orno dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and shewas not a whit nearer being able to pay her to-morrow's bill. _Chapter XI_ THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. Besides, she had admitted her identity. And yet--he thought of thesupper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories abouther, his own few minutes' whispered love-making! He was aself-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought ofthe things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, butwhich he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girlwhom he had just left. He went over her features one by one in hismind. They were the same. He could not doubt it. There was the sameairy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had everread. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was theperson of Annabel Pellissier--the soul of a very different order ofbeing. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom hefound at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs towhich he belonged. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him onone side. "Fred, " he said, "do you remember taking me to dinner at the'Ambassador's, ' one evening last September, to meet a girl who wassinging there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. " "Of course, " his friend answered. "_La belle_ 'Alcide, ' wasn't it?Annabel Pellissier was her real name. Jolly nice girl, too. " Ennison nodded. "I thought I saw her in town to-day, " he said. "Do you happen to knowwhether she is supposed to be here?" "Very likely indeed, " Captain Fred Meddoes answered, lighting acigarette. "I heard that she had chucked her show at the French placesand gone in for a reform all round. Sister's got married to thatbounder Ferringhall. " Ennison took an easy chair. "What a little brick!" he murmured. "She must have character. It's nohalf reform either. What do you know about her, Fred? I aminterested. " Meddoes turned round from the table on which he was practising shotsand shrugged his shoulders. "Not much, " he answered, "and yet about all there is to be known, Ifancy. There were two sisters, you know. Old Jersey and Hampshirefamily, the Pellissiers, and a capital stock, too, I believe. " "Any one could see that the girls were ladies, " Ennison murmured. "No doubt about that, " Meddoes continued. "The father was in the army, and got a half-pay job at St. Heliers. Died short, I suppose, and thegirls had to shift for themselves. One went in for painting, keptstraight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago--the Lord helpher. The other kicked over the traces a bit, made rather a hit withher singing at some of those French places, and went the pace in amild, ladylike sort of way. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. If she's over, he probably knows all about it. " Ennison looked steadily at the cigarette which he was tapping on hisforefinger. "So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?" he remarked. "No doubt about that, I fancy, " Meddoes answered lightly. "He ran someAustrian fellow off. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion andeyes, and a style about her, too. Care for a hundred up?" Ennison shook his head. "Can't stop, thanks, " he answered. "See you to-night, I suppose?" He sauntered off. "I'm damned if I'll believe it, " he muttered to himself savagely. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. * * * * * The same night he met Meddoes and Drummond together, the latter overfrom Paris on a week's leave from the Embassy. "Odd thing, " Meddoes remarked, "we were just talking about thePellissier girl. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhallrounded upon them all at the club. " "Sounds interesting, " Ennison remarked. "May I hear?" "It really isn't much to tell, " Drummond answered. "You know what afearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the wholeworld were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but hewouldn't have any of it. Talked about his years, his position and hisconstituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when thefun was going to begin. Well one night, some of us saw him, or thoughtwe saw him, at a café dining with 'Alcide, '--as a matter of fact, itseems that it was her sister. He came into the club next day, and ofcourse we went for him thick. Jove, he didn't take to it kindly, I cantell you. Stood on his dignity and shut us up in great style. It seemsthat he was a sort of family friend of the Pellissiers, and it was theartist sister whom he was with. The joke of it is that he's married toher now, and cuts me dead. " "I suppose, " Ennison said, "the likeness between the sisters must berather exceptional?" "I never saw the goody-goody one close to, so I can't say, " Drummondanswered. "Certainly I was a little way off at the café, and she had ahat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was 'Alcide. '" "Is 'Alcide' still in Paris?" Ennison asked. "Don't think so, " Drummond answered. "I heard the other day that she'dbeen taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash inParis, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. Anyhow, she'sdisappeared for some reason or other. Perhaps Ferringhall haspensioned her off. He's the sort of johnny who wouldn't care abouthaving a sister-in-law on the loose. " "Ennison here thought he saw her in London, " Meddoes remarked. Drummond nodded. "Very likely. The two sisters were very fond of one another, Ibelieve. Perhaps Sir John is going to take the other one under hiswing. Who's for a rubber of whist?" Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in theevening. He walked across the Park and called upon his sister. "Is Lady Lescelles in?" he asked the butler. "Her ladyship dined at home, " the man answered. "I have just ordered acarriage for her. I believe that her ladyship is going to Carey House, and on to the Marquis of Waterford's ball, " he added, hastilyconsulting a diary on the hall table. A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down thebroad staircase. "Is that you, Nigel?" she asked. "I hope you are going to CareyHouse. " He shook his head, and threw open the door of a great dimly-litapartment on the ground floor. "Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche, " he said. "I want to speakto you. " She assented, smiling. He was her only brother, and she his favouritesister. He closed the door. "I want to ask you a question, " he said. "A serious question. " She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. "Well?" "You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do notmarry. Supposing I made up my mind to marry some one of good enoughfamily, but who was in a somewhat doubtful position, concerning whoseantecedents, in fact there was a certain amount of scandal. Would youstand by me--and her?" "My dear Nigel!" she exclaimed. "Are you serious?" "You know very well that I should never joke on such a subject. Mind, I am anticipating events. Nothing is settled upon. It may be, itprobably will all come to, nothing. But I want to know whether in suchan event you would stand by me?" She held out her hand. "You can count upon me, Nigel, " she said. "But for you Dad would neverhave let me marry Lescelles. He was only a younger son, and you knowwhat trouble we had. I am with you through thick and thin, Nigel. " He kissed her, and handed her into the carriage. Then he went back tohis rooms and lit a cigar. "There are two things to be done, " he said softly to himself. "Thefirst is to discover what she is here for, and where she is staying. The second is to somehow meet Lady Ferringhall. These fellows must beright, " he added thoughtfully, "and yet--there's a mystery somewhere. " _Chapter XII_ THE POSTER OF "ALCIDE" On Saturday mornings there was deposited on the plate of each guest atbreakfast time, a long folded paper with Mrs. White's compliments. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time leftthe house without a smile upon her face. She was practically destituteof jewellery. The few pence left in her purse would only provide avery scanty lunch. Another day of non-success would mean manydisagreeable things. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource ofhers was a slender reed on which to lean. She mounted the stairs ofthe theatrical agent's office with very much less than her usualbuoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the generalappearance of the room into which she was shown. There was already ascore or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. Beyond was anotherdoor, on which was painted in black letters: MR. EARLES, Strictly Private Every one stared at Anna. Anna stared back at every one with undauntedcomposure. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. "Want to see Mr. Earles?" he inquired. "I do, " Anna answered. "Here is my card. Will you take it in to him?" The young man smiled in a superior manner. "Have to take your turn, " he remarked laconically. "There's twentybefore you, and Mr. Earles is going out at twelve sharp--importantengagement. Better come another morning. " "Thank you, " Anna answered. "I will take my chance. " She removed some posters from a chair, and seated herself coolly. Theyoung man looked at her. "Unless you have an appointment, which you haven't, " he said, "you'llonly waste your time here. " "I can spare it, " Anna answered suavely. The young man entered into a lively little war of words with ayellow-haired young person near the door. Anna picked up an ancientmagazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. Theconversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz againall around her. A quarter of an hour passed. Then the inner dooropened abruptly. A tall, clean-shaven man came out and walked rapidlythrough the room, exchanging greetings right and left, but evidentlyanxious to avoid being detained. Mr. Earles himself stood upon thethreshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, withblack hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. Aflorid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. "I'm next, Mr. Earles, " she exclaimed. "Been sitting on the doorstepalmost for two hours. " "In a minute, in a minute, " he answered, his eyes fixed upon Anna. "Reuben, come here. " The young man obeyed the summons. His employer retreated into thefurther apartment, leaving the door ajar. "What's that young lady's name--girl in dark brown, stranger here?"Mr. Earles asked sharply. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. Asense of impending disaster was upon him. Mr. Earles glanced at it, and his eyes flashed with anger. "You blithering idiot!" he exclaimed. Mr. Earles strode into the waiting-room. His face was wreathed insmiles, his be-ringed hand was cordially outstretched. "My dear Miss Pellissier, " he said impressively, "this is anunexpected pleasure. Come in! Come in, do. I must apologize for myyoung puppy of a clerk. If I had known that you were here you shouldnot have been kept waiting for a second. " It took a good deal to surprise Anna, but it was all she could do tofollow Mr. Earles with composure into the inner room. There was alittle murmur of consternation from the waiting crowd, and the floridyoung woman showed signs of temper, to which Mr. Earles was absolutelyindifferent. He installed Anna in a comfortable easy chair, and placedhis own between her and the door. "Come, " he said, "this is capital, capital. It was only a few monthsago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed atme. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too. By-the-bye, " he added, in a suddenly altered tone, "I hope, Itrust--that you have not entered into any arrangements with any onehere?" "I--oh no!" Anna said, a little faintly. "I have made no arrangementsas yet--none at all. " Mr. Earles recovered his spirits. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Your arrival is really most opportune. Thehalls are on the lookout for something new. By-the-bye, do yourecognize that?" Anna looked and gasped. An enormous poster almost covered one side ofthe wall--_the_ poster. The figure of the girl upon it in plain blackdress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable andastonishing likeness of herself. It was her figure, her style ofdress, her manner of arranging the hair. Mr. Earles regarded itapprovingly. "A wonderful piece of work, " he declared. "A most wonderful likeness, too. I hope in a few days, Miss Pellissier, that these posters will belivening up our London hoardings. " Anna leaned back in the chair and laughed softly. Even this man hadaccepted her for "Alcide" without a moment's question. Then all theembarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her. She was suddenlygrave. "I suppose, Mr. Earles, " she said, "that if I were to tell you thatalthough that poster was designed from a rough study of me, andalthough my name is Pellissier, that nevertheless, I am not 'Alcide'would you believe me?" "You can try it on, if you like, " Mr. Earles remarked genially. "Myonly answer would be to ask you to look at that mirror and then at theposter. The poster is of 'Alcide. ' It's a duplicate of the Frenchone. " Anna got up and looked at the mirror and then at the poster. Thelikeness was ridiculous. "Well?" she said, sitting down again. "I want an engagement. " "Capital!" Mr. Earles declared. "Any choice as to which of the Halls?You can pick and choose, you know. I recommend the 'Unusual. '" "I have no choice, " Anna declared. "I can get you, " Mr. Earles said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed uponher, "forty at the 'Unusual, ' two turns, encores voluntary, six formatinées. We should not bar any engagements at private houses, but inother respects the arrangement must be exclusive. " "Forty what?" Anna asked bewildered. "Guineas, of course, " Mr. Earles answered, glibly. "Forty guineas aweek. I mentioned sixty, I believe, when I was in Paris, but there areexpenses, and just now business is bad. " Anna was speechless, but she had presence of mind enough to sit stilluntil she had recovered herself. Mr. Earles watched her anxiously. Sheappeared to be considering. "Of course, " he ventured, "I could try for more at the 'Alhambra. ' Verylikely they would give----" "I should be satisfied with the sum you mention, " Anna said quietly, "but there are difficulties. " "Don't use such a word, my dear young lady, " Mr. Earles saidpersuasively. "Difficulties indeed. We'll make short work of them. " "I hope that you may, " Anna answered enigmatically. "In the firstplace, I have no objection to the posters, as they have no name onthem, but I do not wish to appear at all upon the stage as 'Alcide. 'If you engage me it must be upon my own merits. You are taking it forgranted that I am 'Alcide. ' As a matter of fact, I am not. " "Excuse me, " Mr. Earles said, "but this is rubbish. " "Call it what you like, " Anna answered. "I can sing the songs 'Alcide'sang, and in the same style. But I will not be engaged as 'Alcide' oradvertised under that name. " Mr. Earles scratched his chin for a moment thoughtfully. Then a lightseemed to break in upon him. He slapped his knee. "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Of course, I remember now. It was yoursister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn't it?" Anna nodded. "It was, " she admitted. "You needn't say a word more, " Mr. Earles declared. "I see thedifficulty. The old fool's been working on you through your sister tokeep off the stage. He's a prig to the finger-tips, is SirJohn--doesn't know what an artist is. It's awkward, but we'll getround it somehow. Now I'll tell you what I propose. Let me run you forsix months. I'll give you, say, thirty-five guineas a week clear ofexpenses, and half of anything you earn above the two turns a night. What do you say?" "I agree, " Anna said coldly, "if you will make it three months. " "Better say six, " Mr. Earles protested, seating himself before thedesk, and dipping his pen in the ink. "Four, " Anna decided firmly. "I shall not agree to six. " "It scarcely gives me a chance, " Mr. Earles said, with a resignedsigh, "but I shall rely upon you to stick to me so long as I do theright thing by you. You can't do without an agent, and there's no onecan run you better than I can. " "You must also put in the agreement, " Anna said, "that I do notrepresent myself to be 'Alcide, ' and that I am not advertised to thepublic by that name. " Mr. Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. "Come this way, " he said. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was agrand piano. He seated himself before it. "Go to the far corner, " he said, "and sing the last verse of _LesPetites_. " He struck a note, and Anna responded. Playing with one hand he turnedon his stool to glance at her. Instinctively she had fallen into theposture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightlyforward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of thesong. Mr. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. "You are a funny, a very funny young lady, " he said, "but we wastetime here. You do not need my compliments. We will get on with theagreement and you shall have in it whatever rubbish you like. " Anna laughed, and went back to her easy chair. She knew that her voicewas superior to Annabel's, and she had no further qualms. Whilst shewas wondering how to frame her request for an advance, Mr. Earles drewout his cheque book. "You will not object, " he said, glancing towards her, "to accepting adeposit. It is customary even where an agreement is drawn. " "I shall have no objection at all, " Anna assured him. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and readthe agreement through to her. Anna took up the pen, and signed, aftera moment's hesitation, A. PELLISSIER. "I will send you a copy, " Mr. Earles said, rubbing his hands together, "by post. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, MissPellissier?" Anna hesitated. "Perhaps, " he queried, "you wish to avoid being seen about with anyone--er--connected with the profession, under present circumstances. If so, do not hesitate to tell me. Be frank, I beg you, MissPellissier. I am already too much flattered that you should have givenme your confidence. " "You are very good, Mr. Earles, " Anna said. "I think, perhaps if youwill excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. " "Just as you wish, " Mr. Earles declared good-humouredly, "but I shallnot let you go without drinking a glass of wine to our success. " He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiledbottle. The cork came out with a loud pop, and Anna could not helpwondering how it must sound to the patient little crowd outside. Shedrank her glass of wine, however, and clanked glasses good-naturedlywith Mr. Earles. "You must leave me your address if you please, " he said, as she roseto go. She wrote it down. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made noremark. "I shall probably want you to come down to the 'Unusual' to-morrowmorning, " he said. "Bring any new songs you may have. " Anna nodded, and Mr. Earles attended her obsequiously to the door. Shedescended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street--alone. It was a brief solitude, however. A young man, who had been spendingthe last hour walking up and down on the opposite side of the way, came quickly over to her. She looked up, and recognized Mr. Brendon. _Chapter XIII_ "HE WILL NOT FORGET!" The external changes in Brendon following on his alteration of fortunewere sufficiently noticeable. From head to foot he was attired in thefashionable garb of the young man of the moment. Not only that, but hecarried himself erect--the slight slouch which had bent his shouldershad altogether disappeared. He came to her at once, and turning, walked by her side. "Now I should like to know, " she said, looking at him with a quietsmile, "what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiringneighbourhood for walking about by yourself. " "I plead guilty, Miss Pellissier, " he answered at once. "I saw you gointo that place, and I have been waiting for you ever since. " "I am not sure whether I feel inclined to scold or thank you, " shedeclared. "I think as I feel in a good humour it must be the latter. " He faced her doggedly. "Miss Pellissier, " he said, "I am going to take a liberty. " "You alarm me, " she murmured, smiling. "Don't think that I have been playing the spy upon you, " he continued. "Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. But we can't helpnoticing. You have been going out every morning, and coming homelate--tired out--too tired to come down to dinner. Forgive me, but youhave been looking, have you not, for some employment?" "Quite true!" she answered. "I have found out at last what a uselessperson I am--from a utilitarian point of view. It has been veryhumiliating. " "And that, I suppose, " he said, waving his stick towards Mr. Earles'office, "was your last resource. " "It certainly was, " she admitted. "I changed my last shillingyesterday. " He was silent for a moment or two. His lips were tight drawn. His eyesflashed as he turned towards her. "Do you think that it is kind of you, Miss Pellissier, " he said, almost roughly, "to ignore your friends so? In your heart you knowquite well that you could pay Sydney or me no greater compliment thanto give us just a little of your confidence. We know London, and youare a stranger here. Surely our advice would have been worth having, at any rate. You might have spared yourself many useless journeys anddisappointments, and us a good deal of anxiety. Instead, you arewilling to go to a place like that where you ought not to be allowedto think of showing yourself. " "Why not?" she asked quietly. "The very question shows your ignorance, " he declared. "You knownothing about the stage. You haven't an idea what the sort ofemployment you could get there would be like, the sort of people youwould be mixed up with. It is positively hateful to think of it. " She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm. "Mr. Brendon, " she said, "if I could ask for advice, or borrow moneyfrom any one, I would from you--there! But I cannot. I never could. Isuppose I ought to have been a man. You see, I have had to look aftermyself so long that I have developed a terrible bump of independence. " "Such independence, " he answered quickly, "is a vice. You see to whatit has brought you. You are going to accept a post as chorus girl, orsuper, or something of that sort. " "You do not flatter me, " she laughed. "I am too much in earnest, " he answered, "to be able to take thismatter lightly. " "I am rebuked, " she declared. "I suppose my levity is incorrigible. But seriously, things are not so bad as you think. " He groaned. "They never seem so at first!" he said. "You do not quite understand, " she said gently. "I will tell you thetruth. It is true that I have accepted an engagement from Mr. Earles, but it is a good one. I am not going to be a chorus girl, or even asuper. I have never told you so, or Sydney, but I can sing--ratherwell. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I wasquite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singingprofessionally or try painting. I made a wrong choice, it seems--butmy voice remains. " "You are really going on the stage, then?" he said slowly. "In a sense--yes. " Brendon went very pale. "Miss Pellissier, " he said, "don't!" "Why not?" she asked, smiling. "I must live, you know. " "I haven't told any one the amount, " he went on. "It sounds tooridiculous. But I have two hundred thousand pounds. Will you marryme?" Anna looked at him in blank amazement. Then she burst into a peal oflaughter. "My dear boy, " she exclaimed. "How ridiculous! Fancy you with all thatmoney! For heaven's sake, though, do not go about playing the DonQuixote like this. It doesn't matter with me, but there are at least adozen young women in Mr. Earles' waiting-room who would march youstraight off to a registrar's office. " "You have not answered my question, " he reminded her. "Nor am I going to, " she answered, smiling. "I am going to ignore it. It was really very nice of you, but to-morrow you will laugh at it asI do now. " "Is it necessary, " he said, "for me to tell you----" "Stop, please, " she said firmly. Brendon was silent. "Do not force me to take you seriously, " she continued. "I like tothink of your offer. It was impulsive and natural. Now let us forgetit. " "I understand, " he said, doggedly. "And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner, "she declared lightly. "I will tell you something if you like. One ofthe reasons why I left Paris and came to London was because there wasa man there who wanted me to marry him. I really cared for him alittle, but I am absolutely determined not to marry for some time atany rate. I do not want to get only a second-hand flavour of life. Onecan learn and understand only by personal experience, by actualcontact with the realities of life. I did not want anything madesmooth and easy for me. That is why I would not marry this man whom Idid and whom I do care for a little. Later on--well then the time maycome. Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten. " "I do not know who he is, " Brendon said quietly, "but he will notforget. " Anna shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Who can tell?" she said. "Your sex is a terrible fraud. It isgenerally deficient in the qualities it prides itself upon most. Mendo not understand constancy as women do. " Brendon was not inclined to be led away from the point. "We will take it then, " he said, "that you have refused or ignoredone request I have made you this morning. I have yet another. Let melend you some money. Between comrades it is the most usual thing inthe world, and I do not see how your sex intervenes. Let me keep youfrom that man's clutches. Then we can look out together for suchemployment--as would be more suitable for you. I know London betterthan you, and I have had to earn my own living. You cannot refuse methis. " He looked at her anxiously, and she met his glance with a dazzlingsmile of gratitude. "Indeed, " she said, "I would not. But it is no longer necessary. Icannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for thepresent. I will tell you what you shall give me, if you like. " "Well?" "Lunch! I am hungry--tragically hungry. " He called for a hansom. "After all, " he said, "I am not sure that you are not a very materialperson. " "I am convinced of it, " she answered. "Let us go to that little placeat the back of the Palace. I'm not half smart enough for the WestEnd. " "Wherever you like!" he answered, a little absently. They alighted at the restaurant, and stood for a moment in the passagelooking into the crowded room. Suddenly a half stifled exclamationbroke from Anna's lips. Brendon felt his arm seized. In a moment theywere in the street outside. Anna jumped into a waiting hansom. "Tell him to drive--anywhere, " she exclaimed. Brendon told him the name of a distant restaurant and sprang in by herside. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. Thecommissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. There was no oneelse in the doorway. She leaned back in the corner of the cab with alittle sigh of relief. A smile flickered upon her lips as she glancedtowards Brendon, who was very serious indeed. Her sense of humourcould not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. "I am so sorry to have startled you, " she said, "but I was startledmyself. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I shouldnever meet again. I hope--I am sure that he did not see me. " "He certainly did not follow you out, " Brendon answered. "His back was towards me, " Anna said. "I saw his face in a mirror. Iwonder----" "London is a huge place, " Brendon said. "Even if he lives here you maygo all your life and never come face to face with him again. " _Chapter XIV_ "THIS IS MY WIFE" Anna, notwithstanding her momentary fright in the middle of the day, was in high spirits. She felt that for a time at any rate herdepressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. She hadpaid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such. Beyond that everything was nebulous. She knew that in her new rôle shewas as likely as not to be a rank failure. But the relief from thestrain of her immediate necessities was immense. She had been in thedrawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and hadchattered gaily to every one. Now, in her old place, she was doing herbest thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner. "Your brother has gone?" she asked Sydney, between the courses. He nodded. "Yes. David left this afternoon. I do not think that he has quite gotover his surprise at finding you established here. " She laughed. "After all, why should he be surprised?" she remarked. "Of course, onelives differently in Paris, but then--Paris is Paris. I think that aboarding-house is the very best place for a woman who wants to developher sense of humour. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much ofa second-hand clothes shop. " Sydney looked at her doubtfully. "Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean, " heremarked. "He looks as though he did, at any rate. I don't! Pleaseenlighten me. " She laughed gaily--and she had a way when she laughed of throwing backher head and showing her beautiful white teeth, so that mirth from herwas a thing very much to be desired. "Look round the table, " she said. "Aren't we all just odds and ends ofhumanity--the left-overs, you know. There is something inconglomerateabout us. We are amiable to one another, but we don't mix. We can't. " "You and I and Brendon get on all right, don't we?" Sydney objected. "But that's quite different, " replied Anna. "You are neither of you inthe least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. You don't wear adinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night's shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in theevening, or play at being musical. Besides----" She stopped short. She herself, and one other there, recognized theinterposition of something akin to tragedy. A thickly-set, sandy youngman, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, hadentered the room. He wore a black tail coat buttoned tightly over hischest, and a large diamond pin sparkled in a white satin tie which hadseen better days. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. White, who held out herhand and beamed a welcome upon him. "Now isn't this nice!" that lady exclaimed. "I'm sure we're alldelighted to see you again, Mr. Hill. I do like to see old friendsback here. If there's any one here whom you have not met I will makeyou acquainted with them after dinner. Will you take your old place byMiss Ellicot. " Miss Ellicot swept aside her skirts from the vacant chair and welcomedthe newcomer with one of her most engaging smiles. "We were afraid that you had deserted us for good, Mr. Hill, " she saidgraciously. "I suppose Paris is very, very distracting. You must comeand tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shallforgive you for not having written to any of us. " Mr. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutationsaround the table. "Thank you, ma'am. Glad to get back, I'm sure, " he said briskly. "Looks like old times here, I see. Sorry I'm a bit late the firstevening. Got detained in the City, and----" Then he met the fixed, breathless gaze of those wonderful eyes fromthe other side of the table, and he, too, broke off in the middle ofhis sentence. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. Hislarge, coarse lips drew wider apart. Slowly a mirthless and veryunpleasant smile dawned upon his face. "Great Scott!" he exclaimed huskily. "Why--it's--it's you!" Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. The girlregarded him with the face of a Sphinx. Only in her eyes there seemedto be some apprehension of the fact that the young man's clothes andmanners were alike undesirable things. "Are you speaking to me?" she asked calmly. "I am afraid that you aremaking a mistake. I am quite sure that I do not know you. " A dull flush burned upon his cheeks. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her. A note of belligerency had creptinto his tone. "Don't know me, eh? I like that. You are--or rather you were----" hecorrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, "Miss Pellissier, eh?" A little sensation followed upon his words. Miss Ellicot pursed herlips and sat a little more upright. The lady whose husband had beenMayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. Mrs. White becameconscious of a distinct sense of uneasiness, and showed it in herface. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one whocared to listen, to be so very particular. On the other hand the twoyoung men who sat on either side of Anna were already throwingmurderous glances at the newcomer. "My name, " Anna replied calmly, "is certainly Pellissier, but I repeatthat I do not know you. I never have known you. " He unfolded his serviette with fingers which shook all the time. Hiseyes never left her face. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. "I've plenty of pals, " he said, "who, when they've been doing Paris onthe Q. T. , like to forget all about it--even their names. But you----" Something seemed to catch his breath. He never finished his sentence. There was a moment's breathless and disappointed silence. If only hehad known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. Anna was nofavourite at No. 13 Montague Street. She shrugged her shoulders. "You appear, " she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, andwith unruffled composure, "to be a very impertinent person. Do youmind talking to some one else. " Mrs. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designedto throw oil upon the troubled waters. "Come, " she said. "We mustn't have any unpleasantness, and Mr. Hill'sfirst night back amongst us, too. No doubt there's some littlemistake. We all get deceived sometimes. Mr. Hill, I hope you won'tfind everything cold. You're a little late, you must remember, and weare punctual people here. " "I shall do very well, thank you, ma'am, " he answered shortly. Sydney and Brendon vied with one another in their efforts to engageAnna in conversation, and Miss Ellicot, during the momentary lull, deemed it a favourable opportunity to recommence siege operations. Theyoung man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obviousattempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attentionapparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Annawith a curious mixture of expressions on his face. Anna rose a few minutes before the general company. At the same timeSydney and Brendon also vacated their places. To reach the door theyhad to pass the end of the table, and behind the chair where Mr. Hillwas seated. He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. "I should like to speak to you for a few minutes, " he said to Anna, dropping his voice a little. "It is no good playing a game. We hadbetter have it over. " She eyed him scornfully. In any place her beauty would have been anuncommon thing. Here, where every element of her surroundings wastawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin andappearance, it was striking. "I do not know you, " she said coldly. "I have nothing to say to you. " He stood before the door. Brendon made a quick movement forward. Shelaid her hand upon his arm. "Please don't, " she said. "It really is not necessary. Be so good asto let me pass, sir, " she added, looking her obstructor steadily inthe face. He hesitated. "This is all rot!" he declared angrily. "You can't think that I'm foolenough to be put off like this. " She glanced at Brendon, who stood by her side, tall and threatening. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. A faint, delightfullyhumorous smile parted her lips. "After all, " she said, "if this person will not be reasonable, I amafraid----" It was enough. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man'sshoulder. "Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir, " Brendonordered. Hill lost a little of his truculency. He knew very well that hismuscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. Hewas no match for Brendon. He yielded his place and struck instead withhis tongue. He turned to Mrs. White. "I'm sorry, ma'am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this, " hepointed to Anna, "is my wife. " The sensation produced was gratifying enough. The man's statement wasexplicit, and spoken with confidence. Every one looked at Anna. For amoment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. Herfingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. Shecaught her breath, and her eyes were lit with a sudden terror. Sherecovered herself, however, with amazing facility. Scarcely any onenoticed the full measure of her consternation. From the threshold shelooked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. "What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood, " she declaredscornfully. "I do not even know who you are. " She swept out of the room. Hill would have followed her, but Mrs. White and Miss Ellicot laid each a hand upon his arm, one on eitherside. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her wayupstairs. * * * * * It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with apartition right across it. As usual Brendon lit the candles, andSydney dragged out the spirit-lamp and set it going. Anna opened acupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. "Only four spoonsful left, " she declared briskly, "and your turn tobuy the next pound, Sydney. " "Right!" he answered. "I'll bring it to-morrow. Fresh ground, nochicory, and all the rest of it. But--Miss Pellissier!" "Well?" "Are you quite sure that you want us this evening? Wouldn't you ratherbe alone? Just say the word, and we'll clear out like a shot. " She laughed softly. "You are afraid, " she said, "that the young man who thinks that he ismy husband has upset me. " "Madman!" "Blithering ass!" The girl looked into the two indignant faces and held out both herhands. "You're very nice, both of you, " she said gently. "But I'm afraid youare going to be in a hopeless minority here as regards me. " They eyed her incredulously. "You can't imagine, " Sydney exclaimed, "that the people downstairswill be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. " Anna measured out the coffee. Her eyes were lit with a gleam ofhumour. After all, it was really rather funny. "Well, I don't know, " she said thoughtfully. "I always notice thatpeople find it very easy to believe what they want to believe, and yousee I'm not in the least popular. Miss Ellicot, for instance, considers me a most improper person. " "Miss Ellicot! That old cat!" Sydney exclaimed indignantly. "Miss Ellicot!" Brendon echoed. "As if it could possibly matter whatsuch a person thinks of you. " Anna laughed outright. "You are positively eloquent to-night--both of you, " she declared. "But, you see, appearances are very much against me. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn't riskclaiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. He was painfullyin earnest, too. I think you will find that his story will bebelieved, whatever I say; and in any case, if he is going to stay onhere, I shall have to go away. " "Don't say that, " Sydney begged. "We will see that he never annoysyou. " Anna shook her head. "He is evidently a friend of Mrs. White's, " she said, "and if he isgoing to persist in this delusion, we cannot both remain here. I'drather not go, " she added. "This is much the cheapest place I know ofwhere things are moderately clean, and I should hate rooms all bymyself. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shotdown upon one from the skies. " "And such a beast of a one, " Sydney remarked vigorously. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. "I wonder, " he said, "is there anything we could do to help you to getrid of him?" "Can you think of anything?" Anna answered. "I can't! He appears to bea most immovable person. " Brendon hesitated for a moment. He was a little embarrassed. "There ought to be some means of getting at him, " he said. "The fellowseems to know your name, Miss Pellissier, and that you have lived inParis. Might we ask you if you have ever seen him, if you knew him atall before this evening?" She stood up suddenly, and turning her back to them, looked steadilyout of the window. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare ofboarding-houses and apartments. The steps, even the pavements, wereinvaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heatof the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed forevening dress in Montague Street. The sound of their strident voicesfloated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, theshrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of theirmale companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. A young manwas playing the banjo. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding outa _pot pourri_ of popular airs. Anna raised her eyes. Above thehousetops it was different. She drew a long breath. After all, whyneed one look down. Always the other things remained. "I think, " she said, "that I would rather not have anything to sayabout that man. " "It isn't necessary, " they both declared breathlessly. Brendon dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. He glanced athis watch. "Let us walk round to Covent Garden, " he suggested. "I daresay thegallery will be full, but there is always the chance, and I know youtwo are keen on Melba. " The girl shook her head. "Not to-night, " she said. "I have to go out. " They hesitated. As a rule their comings and goings were discussed withperfect confidence, but on this occasion they both felt that there wasintent in her silence as to her destination. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. "I am afraid--I really think that one of us ought to go with you, " hesaid. "That beast of a fellow is certain to be hanging about. " She shook her head. "It is a secret mission, " she declared. "There are policemen--andbuses. " "You shall not need either, " Brendon said grimly. "We will see that hedoesn't follow you. " She thanked him with a look and rose to her feet. "Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation, " she said, smiling. "Iexpect it is pretty well in shreds by now. To-morrow morning I shallhave made up my mind what to do. " _Chapter XV_ A MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE Anna looked about her admiringly. It was just such a bedroom as shewould have chosen for herself. The colouring was green and white, withsoftly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracleof daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table litteredall over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom--a vision ofluxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown andfollowed by a maid presently appeared. "Too bad to keep you waiting, " Annabel exclaimed. "I'm really verysorry. Collins, you can go now. I will ring if I want you. " The maid discreetly withdrew, and Anna stood transfixed, gazing withpuzzled frown at her sister. "Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?"she exclaimed. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. "The very question, my dear sister, " she said, "tells me that I havesucceeded. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would everthink that we were sisters. Don't you think that the shade of my hairis lovely?" "There is nothing particular the matter with the shade, " Annaanswered, "but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. And what on earth do you want to darken your eyebrows and use so muchmake-up for at your age? You're exactly twenty-three, and you're gotup as much as a woman of forty-five. " Annabel shrugged her shoulders. "I only use the weeniest little dab of rouge, " she declared, "and itis really necessary, because I want to get rid of the 'palloreffect. '" Anna made no remark. Her disapproval was obvious enough. Annabel sawit, and suddenly changed her tone. "You are very stupid, Anna, " she said. "Can you not understand? It isof no use your taking my identity and all the burden of my iniquitiesupon your dear shoulders if I am to be recognized the moment I show myface in London. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I haveabandoned my rôle of _ingenuèe_ and altered my whole style of dress. Upon my word, Anna, " she declared, with a strange little laugh, "youare a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I ammyself. " A sudden sense of the gravity of this thing came home to Anna. Hersister's words were true. They had changed identities absolutely. Itwas not for a week or a month. It was for ever. A cold shiver cameover her. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived indifferent worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. Annabel had takenher life into her hands with gay _insouciance_, had made her ownfriends, gone her own way. Anna never knew whither it had ledher--sometimes she had fears. It was her past now, not Annabel's. "It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister, " Annabelremarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her handsover her head. "To tell you the truth, I am a little dull. " "Where is your husband?" Anna asked. "He is addressing a meeting of his constituents somewhere, " Annabelanswered. "I do not suppose he will be home till late. Tell me how areyou amusing yourself?" Anna laughed. "I have been amusing myself up to now by trying to earn my living, "she replied. "I hope, " Annabel answered lazily, "that you have succeeded. By-the-bye, do you want any money? Sir John's ideas of pin money arenot exactly princely, but I can manage what you want, I dare say. " "Thank you, " Anna answered coldly. "I am not in need of any. I mightadd that in any case I should not touch Sir John's. " "That's rather a pity, " Annabel said. "He wants to settle something onyou, I believe. It is really amusing. He lives in constant dread of areappearance of '_La Belle Alcide_, ' and hearing it said that she ishis wife's sister. Bit priggish, isn't it? And if he only knew it--soabsurd. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna--typewriting, or painting, or lady's companion?" "I think, " Anna said, "that the less you know about me the better. Isall your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?"she asked, looking round. Annabel shook her head. "Most of it is ugly and frowsy, " she declared, "but it isn't worthtalking about. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from hereinto Park Lane, or one of the Squares. It is absolutely a frightfulneighbourhood, this. If only you could see the people who have been tocall on me! Sir John has the most absurd ideas, too. He won't havemenservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is onlyfit for a museum--where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. Ican assure you, Anna, it will take me years to get decentlyestablished. The man's as obstinate as a mule. " Anna looked at her steadily. "He will find it difficult no doubt to alter his style of living, "she said. "I do not blame him. I hope you will always remember----" Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. "No lecturing, Anna!" she exclaimed. "I hope you have not come forthat. " "I came, " Anna answered, looking her sister steadily in the face, "tohear all that you can tell me about a man named Hill. " Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification ofgraceful animal ease. At Anna's words she seemed suddenly to stiffen. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. The little spot of rougewas vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed todraw the colour even from her lips. But she did not speak. She made noattempt to answer her sister's question. Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart. "You must answer me, Annabel, " she continued. "You must tell me thetruth, please. It is necessary. " Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to seethat it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps. "There was a man called Montague Hill, " she said hoarsely, "but he isdead. " "Then there is also, " Anna remarked, "a Montague Hill who is very muchalive. Not only that, but he is here in London. I have just come fromhim. " Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion. She battled with adeadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to herseat. Anna, quitting her chair, dropped on her knees by her sister'sside and took her hand. "Do not be frightened, dear, " she said. "You must tell me the truth, and I will see that no harm comes to you. " "The only Montague Hill I ever knew, " Annabel said slowly, "is dead. Iknow he is dead. I saw him lying on the footway. I felt his heart. Ithad ceased to beat. It was a motor accident--a fatal motor accidentthe evening papers called it. They could not have called it a fatalmotor accident if he had not been dead. " Anna nodded. "Yes, I remember, " she said. "It was the night you left Paris. Theythought that he was dead at first, and they took him to the hospital. I believe that his recovery was considered almost miraculous. " "Alive, " Annabel moaned, her eyes large with terror. "You say that heis alive. " "He is certainly alive, " Anna declared. "More than that, he arrivedto-day at the boarding-house where I am staying, greeted me with atheatrical start, and claimed me--as his wife. That is why I am here. You must tell me what it all means. " "And you?" Annabel exclaimed. "What did you say?" "Well, I considered myself justified in denying it, " Anna answereddrily. "He produced what he called a marriage certificate, and Ibelieve that nearly every one in the boarding-house, including Mrs. White, my landlady, believes his story. I am fairly well hardened ininiquity--your iniquity, Annabel--but I decline to have a husbandthrust upon me. I really cannot have anything to do with Mr. MontagueHill. " "A--marriage certificate!" Annabel gasped. Anna glanced into her sister's face, and rose to her feet. "Let me get you some water, Annabel. Don't be frightened, dear. Remember----" Annabel clutched her sister's arm. She would not let her move. Sheseemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. "A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!" she exclaimed in ahoarse excited whisper. "He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. " Anna nodded. "It is the same man, Annabel, " she said. "There is no doubt whateverabout that. There was the motor accident, too. It is the same man, forhe raved in the hospital, and they fetched me. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. " "Alive! In London!" Annabel moaned. "Yes. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. " The girl on the lounge drew a long sobbing breath. "You shall, " she said. "Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, anAmerican railway millionaire. This man and he were alike, and aboutthe same age. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once ortwice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. At any rate, he began todeliberately personate him. He sent me flowers. Celeste introduced himto me--oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known. He--wanted tomarry me. Just then--I was nervous. I had gone further than I meantto--with some Englishmen. I was afraid of being talked about. Youdon't know, Anna, but when one is in danger one realizes that the--theother side of the line is Hell. The man was mad to marry me. I heardeverywhere of his enormous riches and his generosity. I consented. Wewent to the Embassy. There was--a service. Then he took me out toMonteaux, on a motor. We were to have breakfast there and return inthe evening. On the way he confessed. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. He had heard me sing--the foolthought himself in love with me. Celeste he knew. She was chaffing himabout being taken for Meysey Hill, and suggested that he should bepresented to me as the millionaire. He told me with a coarse nervouslaugh. I was his wife. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. Anna, I listened to allthat he had to say, and I called to him to let me get out. He laughed. I tried to jump, but he increased the speed. We were going at a madpace. I struck him across the mouth, and across the eyes. He lostcontrol of the machine. I jumped then--I was not even shaken. I sawthe motor dashed to pieces against the wall, and I saw him pitched onhis head into the road. I leaned over and looked at him--he was quitestill. I could not hear his heart beat. I thought that he was dead. Istole away and walked to the railway station. That night in Paris Isaw on the bills 'Fatal Motor Accidents. ' _Le Petit Journal_ said thatthe man was dead. I was afraid that I might be called upon as awitness. That is why I was so anxious to leave Paris. The man who cameto our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. " "The good God!" Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. "You weremarried to him!" "It could not be legal, " Annabel moaned. "It couldn't be. I thoughtthat I was marrying Meysey Hill, not that creature. We stepped fromthe Embassy into the motor--and oh! I thought that he was dead. Whydidn't he die?" Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. "You won't give me away, Anna. He would never recognize me now. Youare much more like what I was then. " Anna stopped in front of her. "You don't propose, do you, " she said quietly, "that I should takethis man for my husband?" "You can drive him away, " Annabel cried. "Tell him that he is mad. Goand live somewhere else. " "In his present mood, " Anna remarked, "he would follow me. " "Oh, you are strong and brave, " Annabel murmured. "You can keep him atarm's length. Besides, it was under false pretences. He told me thathe was a millionaire. It could not be a legal marriage. " "I am very much afraid, " Anna answered, "that it was. It might beupset. I am wondering whether it would not be better to tell yourhusband everything. You will never be happy with this hanging overyou. " Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau deCologne. "You don't know him, Anna, " she said with a little shudder, "or youwould not talk like that. He is steeped in the conventions. Everyslight action is influenced by what he imagines would be the opinionof other people. Anything in the least irregular is like poison tohim. He has no imagination, no real generosity. You might tell thetruth to some men, but never to him. " Anna was thoughtful. A conviction that her sister's words were truehad from the first possessed her. "Annabel, " she said slowly, "if I fight this thing out myself, can Itrust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you havesaid it is useless for us to play with words. You do not love yourhusband, you have married him for a position--to escape from--thingswhich you feared. Will you be a faithful and honest wife? Will you doyour duty by him, and forget all your past follies? Unless, Annabel, you can----" "Oh, I will pledge you my word, " Annabel cried passionately, "mysolemn word. Believe me, Anna. Oh, you must believe me. I have beenvery foolish, but it is over. " "Remember that you are young still, and fond of admiration, " Annasaid. "You will not give Sir John any cause for jealousy? You willhave no secrets from him except--concerning those things which arepast?" "Anna, I swear it!" her sister sobbed. "Then I will do what I can, " Anna promised. "I believe that you arequite safe. He has had brain fever since, and, as you say, I am morelike what you were then than you yourself are now. I don't think for amoment that he would recognize you. " Annabel clutched her sister's hands. The tears were streaming down herface, her voice was thick with sobs. "Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world, " she cried. "Oh, I can't thank you. You dear, dear girl. I--listen. " They heard a man's voice outside. "Sir John!" Annabel gasped. Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. "One moment, if you please!" She stopped short and looked round. Sir John stood upon the threshold. _Chapter XVI_ THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters. His facedarkened. "My arrival appears to be opportune, " he said stiffly. "I was hopingto be able to secure a few minutes' conversation with you, MissPellissier. Perhaps my wife has already prepared you for what I wishto say. " "Not in the least, " Anna answered calmly. "We have scarcely mentionedyour name. " Sir John coughed. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in herhands--he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easycomposure which secretly irritated him. "It is concerning--our future relations, " Sir John pronouncedponderously. "Indeed!" Anna answered indifferently. "That sounds interesting. " Sir John frowned. Anna was unimpressed. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked himsteadily in the eyes. "I have no wish, " he said, "to altogether ignore the fact that you aremy wife's sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. " Anna's eyes opened a little wider, but she said nothing. "A claim, " he continued, "which I am quite prepared to recognize. Itwill give me great pleasure to settle an annuity for a moderate amountupon you on certain conditions. " "A--what?" Anna asked. "An annuity--a sum of money paid to you yearly or quarterly through mysolicitors, and which you can consider as a gift from your sister. Theconditions are such as I think you will recognize the justice of. Iwish to prevent a repetition of any such errand as I presume you havecome here upon this evening. I cannot have my wife distressed orworried. " "May I ask, " Anna said softly, "what you presume to have been thenature of my errand here this evening?" Sir John pointed to Annabel, who was as yet utterly limp. "I cannot but conclude, " he said, "that your errand involved therecital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. Ishould like to add that if a certain amount is needed to set you freefrom any debts you may have contracted, in addition to this annuity, you will not find me unreasonable. " Anna glanced momentarily towards her sister, but Annabel neither spokenor moved. "With regard to the conditions I mentioned, " Sir John continued, gaining a little confidence from Anna's silence, "I think you willadmit that they are not wholly unreasonable. I should require you toaccept no employment whatever upon the stage, and to remain out ofEngland. " Anna's demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untingedby the slightest flush of colour. She regarded him coldly, as thoughwondering whether he had anything further to say. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. "I trust, " he said, "that you will recognize the justice of theseconditions. Under happier circumstances nothing would have given memore pleasure than to have offered you a home with your sister. Youyourself, I am sure, recognize how impossible you have made it for menow to do anything of the sort. I may say that the amount of theannuity I propose to allow you is two hundred a year. " Anna looked for a moment steadily at her sister, whose face was stillaverted. Then she moved towards the door. Before she passed out sheturned and faced Sir John. The impassivity of her features changed atlast. 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 canunderstand now these newspapers when they talk of your magnificentphilanthropy. It is magnificent indeed. And yet--you millionairesshould really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. I am somuch obliged to you for your projected benevolence. Frankly, it is thefunniest thing which has ever happened to me in my life. I shall liketo 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 wasmaddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior ofthis cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a momentto scintillate with scorn. There were one or two bitter moments in hislife when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with abrush may sometimes crack and show weak places--that deportment andbreeding 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 hummingto herself fragments of an old French song. And then at the streetcorner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. "I won't pretend, " he said, "that this is an accident. The fates arenever 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 thesort?" "No right at all, " he admitted. "Only it is much too late for you tobe out alone. You have been to see your sister, of course. How isshe?" "My sister is quite well, thank you, " she answered. "Would you mindcalling 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'sknees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. I wouldsooner 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'tit?" "Absolutely, " she agreed coldly. "I wish you would not do it. " "Would not do what?" "Well, follow buses from Russell Square to Hampstead. " "I can assure you, " he answered, "that it isn't a habit of mine. Butseriously----" "Well seriously?" "Isn't it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me youraddress, and allow me to call upon you. " "Why should I? I have told you that I do not wish for acquaintances inLondon. " "Perhaps not in a general way, " he answered calmly. "You are quiteright, I think. Only I am not an acquaintance at all. I am an oldfriend, and I declined to be shelved. " "Would you mind telling me, " Anna asked, "how long I knew you inParis?" He looked at her sideways. There was nothing to be learned from herface. "Well, " he said slowly, "I had met you three times--before Drummond'sdinner. " "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?" heasked quietly. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. She felt that there was a hiddenmeaning under his words. Yet her embarrassment was only a passingthing. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of theshoulders. "We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground, " she said. "It wasperhaps 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 wasfull. They fell into step again. More than ever a sense of confusionwas upon Ennison. "Last time I saw you, " he reminded her, "you spoke, did you not, ofobtaining some employment in London. " "Quite true, " she answered briskly, "and thanks to you I havesucceeded. " "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 Idid not try--the music hall stage here. " "You must admit, " he declared, "that to us--who had seen you--thethought of your trying anything else was amazing. " "At any rate, " she declared, "your remarks decided me. I have anengagement 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 sawthat a shadow had fallen upon his face. "Tell me, " she insisted, "why you look like that. You are afraid--thathere 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 afailure would never have occurred to me. " "Then why are you sorry that I am going to the 'Unusual'? I do notunderstand. " Their eyes met for a moment. His face was very serious. "I am sorry, " he said slowly. "Why, I do not know. " "I positively insist upon knowing, " she declared cheerfully. "Thesooner you tell me the better. " "It is very hard to explain, " he answered. "I think that it is only anidea. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris tohave changed--to have changed in some subtle manner which I find attimes utterly bewildering. I find you an impenetrable enigma. I findit impossible to associate you with--my little friend of the'Ambassador's. ' The things she said and did from you--seem impossible. Ihad a sort of idea, " he went on, "that you were starting life all overagain, 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 beafraid 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 doesnot exist any more. At the same time, " she added, in a suddenlyaltered 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 andlooked 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 offhis 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 werewide open with amazement. "Mr. Ennison!" He released her. "Good God!" he exclaimed. "Who are you--Annabel Pellissier or herghost?" Anna laughed. "If it is a choice between the two, " she answered, "I must be AnnabelPellissier. 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 knowhim. You have changed from the veriest butterfly to a woman--you weardifferent clothes, you have the air of another world. If you do nothelp me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that verysoon 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 oneshould know----you should! He was your friend. We were only--_lesautres_. " "That is quite untrue, " she declared cheerfully. "I certainly knew himno better than you. " "Then he--and Paris--lied, " Ennison answered. "That, " she answered, "is far easier to believe. You are toocredulous. " Ennison had things to say, but he looked at her and held his tongue. They turned the last corner, and almost immediately a man who had beenstanding there turned and struck Ennison a violent blow on the cheek. Ennison reeled, and almost fell. Recovering himself quickly hisinstinct of self-defence was quicker than his recollection of Anna'spresence. He struck out from the shoulder, and the man measured hislength upon the pavement. Anna sprang lightly away across the street. Brendon and Courtlaw whohad been watching for her, met her at the door. She pointed across theroad. "Please go and see that--nothing happens, " she pleaded. "It is the first moment we have let him out of our sight, " Brendonexclaimed, as he hastened across the street. Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. Ennison's signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. "What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?" Ennisonexclaimed, glowering down upon him. "Serves you right if I'd crackedyour skull. " Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with brokencollar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face. "What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?" he answered fiercely. Ennison looked down on him in disgust. "You silly fool, " he said. "I know nothing about your wife. The younglady I was with is not married at all. Why don't you make sure beforeyou rush out like that upon a stranger?" "You were with my wife, " Hill repeated sullenly. "I suppose you'relike the rest of them. Call her Miss Pellissier, eh? I tell you she'smy wife, and I've got the certificate in my pocket. " "I don't know who you are, " Ennison said quietly, "but you are athundering liar. " Hill staggered to his feet and drew a folded paper from his pocket. "Marriage certificates don't tell lies, at any rate, " he said. "Justlook that through, will you. " Ennison took the document, tore it half in two without looking at it, and flung it back in Hill's face. Then he turned on his heel andwalked off. _Chapter XVII_ THE CHANGE IN "ALCIDE" "By-the-bye, " his neighbour asked him languidly, "who is our hostess?" "Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall, " Ennison answered, "unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wronghouse. " "How dull you are, " the lady remarked. "Of course I mean, who wasshe?" "I believe that her name was Pellissier, " Ennison answered. "Pellissier, " she repeated thoughtfully. "There were some HampshirePellissiers. " "She is one of them, " Ennison said. "Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. " "In Paris, I think, " Ennison answered. "Only married a few months agoand lived out at Hampstead. " "Heavens!" the lady exclaimed. "I heard they came from somewhereoutrageous. " "Hampstead didn't suit Lady Ferringhall, " Ennison remarked. "They havejust taken this house from Lady Cellender. " "And what are you doing here?" the lady asked. "Politics!" Ennison answered grimly. "And you?" "Same thing. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John's company. Doyou know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by thetolerance of these millionaire tradesmen. Our land brings us innothing. We have to get them to let us in for the profits of theirbusiness, and in return we ask them to--dinner. By-the-bye, have youseen this new woman at the 'Empire'? What is it they callher--'Alcide?'" "Yes, I have seen her, " Ennison answered. "Every one raves about her, " Lady Angela continued. "For my part I cansee no difference in any of these French girls who come over here withtheir demure manner and atrocious songs. " "'Alcide's' songs are not atrocious, " Ennison remarked. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. "It is unimportant, " she said. "Nobody understands them, of course, but we all look as though we did. Something about this woman ratherreminds me of our hostess. " Ennison thought so too half an hour later, when having cut out fromone of the bridge tables he settled down for a chat with Annabel. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of herhead, the play of her eyes startled him. Then he remembered that shewas Anna's sister. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. "By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall, " he said, "do you know that I am a verygreat admirer of your sister's? I wonder if she has ever spoken to youof me. " The change in Lady Ferringhall's manner was subtle but unmistakable. She answered him almost coldly. "I see nothing of my sister, " she said. "In Paris our lives were farapart, and we had seldom the same friends. I have heard of you from myhusband. You are somebody's secretary, are you not?" It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison, although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at oncediscard it. "You have not seen your sister lately, " he remarked. "I believe thatyou would find her in some respects curiously altered. I have never inmy life been so much puzzled by any one as by your sister. Somethinghas changed her tremendously. " Annabel looked at him curiously. "Do you mean in looks?" she asked. "Not only that, " he answered. "In Paris your sister appeared to me tobe a charming student of frivolity. Here she seems to have developedinto a brilliant woman with more character and steadfastness than Ishould ever have given her credit for. Her features are the same, yetthe change has written its mark into her face. Do you know, LadyFerringhall, I am proud that your sister permits me to call myself herfriend. " "And in Paris----" "In Paris, " he interrupted, "she was a very delightful companion, butbeyond that--one did not take her seriously. I am not boring you, amI?" She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. "You are not boring me, " she said, "but I would rather talk ofsomething else. I suppose you will think me very unsisterly andcold-hearted, but there are circumstances in connexion with mysister's latest exploit which are intensely irritating both to myhusband and to myself. " He recognized the force, almost the passion, which trembled in hertone, and he at once abandoned the subject. He remained talking withher however. It was easy for him to see that she desired to beagreeable to him. They talked lightly but confidentially until SirJohn approached them with a slight frown upon his face. "Mr. Ennison, " he said, "it is for you to cut in at Lady Angela'stable. Anna, do you not see that the Countess is sitting alone?" She rose, and flashed a quick smile upon Ennison behind her husband'sback. "You must come and see me some afternoon, " she said to him. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he playedwith less than his accustomed skill. On the way home he was stillthoughtful. He turned in at the club. They were talking of "Alcide, "as they often did in those days. "She has improved her style, " someone declared. "Certainly her voiceis far more musical. " Another differed. "She has lost something, " he declared, "something which brought themen in crowds around the stage at the 'Ambassador's. ' I don't know whatyou'd call it--a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. She singsbetter perhaps. But I don't think she lays hold of one so. " "I will tell you what there is about her which is so fetching, "Drummond, who was lounging by, declared. "She contrives somehow tostrike the personal note in an amazing manner. You are wedged inamongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, youare almost out of sight. Yet you catch her eye--you can't seem toescape from it. You feel that that smile is for you, the words are foryou, the whole song is for you. Naturally you shout yourself hoarsewhen she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. " "And if you are a millionaire like Drummond, " someone remarked, "yousend round a note and ask her to come out to supper. " "In the present case, " Drummond remarked, glancing across the room, "Cheveney wouldn't permit it. " Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending toread. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. "Cheveney wouldn't have anything to say about it, as it happens, " heremarked, a little grimly. "Ungracious little beast, I call her. Idon't mind telling you chaps that except on the stage I haven't seteyes on her this side of the water. I've called half a dozen times ather flat, and she won't see me. Rank ingratitude, I call it. " There was a shout of laughter. Drummond patted him on the shoulder. "Never mind, old chap, " he declared. "Let's hope your successor isworthy of you. " "You fellows, " Ennison said quietly, "are getting a little wild. Ihave known Miss Pellissier as long as any of you perhaps, and I haveseen something of her since her arrival in London. I consider her avery charming young woman--and I won't hear a word about Paris, forthere are things I don't understand about that, but I will stake myword upon it that to-day Miss Pellissier is entitled not only to ouradmiration, but to our respect. I firmly believe that she is asstraight as a die. " Ennison's voice shook a little. They were his friends, and theyrecognized his unusual earnestness. Drummond, who had been about tospeak, refrained. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. "I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at anyrate, " someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. "You see, her sister is married to Ferringhall, isn't she? and she herself mustbe drawing no end of a good screw here. I always say that it's povertybefore everything that makes a girl skip the line. " Ennison escaped. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a foolof himself. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route andpaused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. It wasnearly one o'clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. Suddenly the door of the flat opened and closed. A man came out, andwalking recklessly, almost cannoned into Ennison. He mumbled anapology and then stopped short. "It's Ennison, isn't it?" he exclaimed. "What the devil are you doingstar-gazing here?" Ennison looked at him in surprise. "I might return the compliment, Courtlaw, " he answered, "by asking whythe devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. " Courtlaw was pale and dishevelled. He was carelessly dressed, andthere were marks of unrest upon his features. He pointed to where thelights still burned in Anna's windows. "What do you think of that farce?" he exclaimed bitterly. "You are oneof those who must know all about it. Was there ever such madness?" "I am afraid that I don't understand, " Ennison answered. "You seem tohave come from Miss Pellissier's rooms. I had no idea even that shewas a friend of yours. " Courtlaw laughed hardly. His eyes were red. He was in a curious stateof desperation. "Nor am I now, " he answered. "I have spoken too many truths to-night. Why do women take to lies and deceit and trickery as naturally as aduck to water?" "You are not alluding, I hope, to Miss Pellissier?" Ennison saidstiffly. "Why not? Isn't the whole thing a lie? Isn't her reputation, thishusband of hers, the 'Alcide' business, isn't it all a cursed juggle?She hasn't the right to do it. I----" He stopped short. He had the air of a man who has said too much. Ennison was deeply interested. "I should like to understand you, " he said. "I knew Miss Pellissier inParis at the 'Ambassador's, ' and I know her now, but I am convincedthat there is some mystery in connexion with her change of life. Sheis curiously altered in many ways. Is there any truth, do you suppose, in this rumoured marriage?" "I know nothing, " Courtlaw answered hurriedly. "Ask me nothing. I willnot talk to you about Miss Pellissier or her affairs. " "You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw, " Ennison said. "Come to myrooms and have a drink. " Courtlaw refused brusquely, almost rudely. "I am off to-night, " he said. "I am going to America. I have workthere. I ought to have gone long ago. Will you answer me a questionfirst?" "If I can, " Ennison said. "What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier's flat to-night? You werelooking at her windows. Why? What is she to you?" "I was there by accident, " Ennison answered. "Miss Pellissier isnothing to me except a young lady for whom I have the most profoundand respectful admiration. " Courtlaw laid his hand upon Ennison's shoulder. They were at thecorner of Pall Mall now, and had come to a standstill. "Take my advice, " he said hoarsely. "Call it warning, if you like. Admire her as much as you choose--at a distance. No more. Look at me. You knew me in Paris. David Courtlaw. Well-balanced, sane, wasn't I?You never heard anyone call me a madman? I'm pretty near being onenow, and it's her fault. I've loved her for two years, I love her now. And I'm off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of theAtlantic I'll thank the Lord for it. " He strode away and vanished in the gathering fog. Ennison stood stillfor a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. Then he turnedround and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog whereCourtlaw had disappeared. "I'm d----d if I understand this, " he said thoughtfully. "I never sawCourtlaw with her--never heard her speak of him. He was going to tellme something--and he shut up. I wonder what it was. " _Chapter XVIII_ ANNABEL AND "ALCIDE" Lady Ferringhall lifted her eyes to the newcomer, and the greeting inthem was obviously meant for him alone. She continued to fan herself. "You are late, " she murmured. "My chief, " he said, "took it into his head to have an impromptudinner party. He brought home a few waverers to talk to them wherethey had no chance of getting away. " She nodded. "I am bored, " she said abruptly. "This is a very foolish sort ofentertainment. And, as usual, " she continued, a little bitterly, "Iseem to have been sent along with the dullest and least edifying ofMrs. Montressor's guests. " Ennison glanced at the other people in the box and smiled. "I got your note just in time, " he remarked. "I knew of course thatyou were at the Montressor's, but I had no idea that it was a musichall party afterwards. Are you all here?" "Five boxes full, " she answered. "Some of them seem to be having anawfully good time too. Did you see Lord Delafield and Miss Anderson?They packed me in with Colonel Anson and Mrs. Hitchings, who seem tobe absolutely engrossed in one another, and a boy of about seventeen, who no sooner got here than he discovered that he wanted to see a manin the promenade and disappeared. " Ennison at once seated himself. "I feel justified then, " he said, "in annexing his chair. I expect youhad been snubbing him terribly. " "Well, he was presumptuous, " Annabel remarked, "and he wasn't niceabout it. I wonder how it is, " she added, "that boys always make loveso impertinently. " Ennison laughed softly. "I wonder, " he said, "how you would like to be made love to--boldly ortimorously or sentimentally. " "Are you master of all three methods?" she asked, stopping her fanningfor a moment to look at him. "Indeed, no, " he answered. "Mine is a primitive and unstudied manner. It needs cultivating, I think. " His fingers touched hers for a moment under the ledge of the box. "That sounds so uncouth, " she murmured. "I detest amateurs. " "I will buy books and a lay figure, " he declared, "to practise upon. Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?" "For Heaven's sake no, " she declared. "I would rather put up with yourown efforts, however clumsy. Love-making at first hand is dull enough. At second hand it would be unendurable. " He leaned towards her. "Is that a challenge?" She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. "Why not? It might amuse me. " Somewhat irrelevantly he glanced at the next few boxes where the restof Mrs. Montressor's guests were. "Is your husband here to-night?" he asked. "My husband!" she laughed a little derisively. "No, he wouldn't comehere of all places--just now. He dined, and then pleaded a politicalengagement. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn't. " "You know, " he said with some hesitation, "that your sister issinging. " She nodded. "Of course. I want to hear how she does it. " "She does it magnificently, " he declared. "I think--we all think thatshe is wonderful. " She looked at him with curious eyes. "I remember, " she said, "that the first night I saw you, you spoke ofmy sister as your friend. Have you seen much of her lately?" "Nothing at all, " he answered. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gentlybackwards and forwards. She was watching him intently. "Do you know, " she said, "that every one is remarking how ill youlook. I too can see it. What has been the matter?" "Toothache, " he answered laconically. She looked away. "You might at least, " she murmured, "have invented a more romanticreason. " "Oh, I might, " he answered, "have gone further still. I might havetold you the truth. " "Has my sister been unkind to you?" "The family, " he declared, "has not treated me with consideration. " She looked at him doubtfully. "You promised faithfully to be there, " he said slowly. "I loatheafternoon concerts, and----" She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment bythe soft brilliancy of her smile. Her fingers rested upon his. "You were really at Moulton House, " she exclaimed penitently. "I am sosorry. I had a perfect shoal of callers. People who would not go. Ionly arrived when everybody was coming away. " A little murmur of expectation, an audible silence announced thecoming of "Alcide. " Then a burst of applause. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. From the first there hadalways been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathywhich only a certain order of genius seems able to create. Then shesang. Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. Lady Ferringhall listened, andher cheeks grew pale. Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. She forgot Anna's sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot theburden which she had fastened upon her sister's shoulders. She wasfiercely and bitterly jealous. Anna was singing as she used to sing. She was _chic_, distinguished, unusual. What right had she to callherself "Alcide"? It was abominable, an imposture. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. He forgot Annabel's idle attempts atlove-making, all the _cul-de-sac_ gallantry of the moment. Thecultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his littleworld fell away from him. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyesof the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to himwith a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and therethrough the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless andseductive music from her lips. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervenedbetween them. Their conversation became stilted. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. "She is marvellously clever, " he said. "She appears to be very popular here, " she remarked. "You too sing?" he asked. "I have given it up, " she answered. "One genius in the family isenough. " After a pause, she added, "Do you mind fetching back myrecalcitrant cavalier. " "Anything except that, " he murmured. "I was half hoping that I mightbe allowed to see you home. " "If you can tear yourself away from this delightful place in fiveminutes, " she answered, "I think I can get rid of the others. " "We will do it, " he declared. "If only Sir John were not Sir John Iwould ask you to come and have some supper. " "Don't imperil my reputation before I am established, " she answered, smiling. "Afterwards it seems to me that there are no limits to whatone may not do amongst one's own set. " "I am frightened of Sir John, " he said, "but I suggest that we riskit. " "Don't tempt me, " she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloaktogether. "You shall drive home with me in a hansom, if you will. Thatis quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night. " * * * * * Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned thedirect route to pass by the door of Anna's flat. Impassive by natureand training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense ofexcitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background ofdisappointment. Her sister had told him that it was true. Anna wasmarried. After all, she was a consummate actress. Her recent attitudetowards him was undoubtedly a pose. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary. There was no longer anyrisk in association with her. His pulses beat fast as he walked, hisfeet fell lightly upon the pavement. He slackened his pace as hereached the flat. The windows were still darkened--perhaps she was nothome yet. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. He laughed once ortwice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. He felt like aboy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, thewhole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry andpassion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself anadventurer upon the threshold. Then a hansom drove up, and his heart gave a great leap. She steppedon to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost toice as he saw that she was not alone. A young man turned to pay thecabman. Then she saw him. "Mr. Ennison, " she exclaimed, "is that really you?" There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. She held out herhand frankly. She seemed honestly glad to see him. "How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on mydoorstep!" she remarked gaily. "Are you in a hurry? Will you come inand have some coffee?" He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. He saw now that itwas merely a boy. "This is Mr. Sydney Courtlaw--Mr. Ennison, " she said. "You are comingin, 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 tinylittle note but no address. I did not even know where to write andthank you. " "I have been abroad, " he said. "The life of a private secretary ispositively 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 tosee me, " she said good-humouredly. "Please make yourselves comfortablewhile I see to the coffee. " It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in itsquaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strangeand unexpected places. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed froma dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. A jarof pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy ofcolour from the sombre curtains behind. Anna, who had thrown aside hersealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, theplay of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. Awoman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. Adreamy sense of content crept over him. The ambitions of his life, andthey were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in someoutside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. Alittle table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. There werecakes and sandwiches--for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to beremembered. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, witha 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 andsilent now, for it was long past midnight. For a moment her thoughtsled her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood togetherbefore the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of SirJohn had made so many changes in her life. She was silent, the ghostof a fading smile passed from her lips. She had made her way sincethen a little further into the heart of life. Yet even now there wereso many things untouched, so much to be learned. To-night she had acurious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. Thegreat untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can passalone. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elationcrept over her. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. She glanced into hercompanion's face, and she saw there strange things. For a moment herheart seemed to stop beating. Then she dropped the curtain and steppedback into the room. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stoodupon the piano. "I am sure, " she said, "that you mean to stay until you are turnedout. Do you see the time?" "I may come and see you?" Ennison asked, as his hand touched hers. "Yes, " she answered, looking away. "Some afternoon. " _Chapter XIX_ "THIS IS NOT THE END" "I said some afternoon, " she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking off her gloves, "but I certainly did not mean to-day. " "I met you accidentally, " he reminded her. "Our ways happened to lietogether. " "And our destinations also, it seems, " she added, smiling. "You asked me in to tea, " he protested. "In self-defence I had to, " she answered. "It is a delightful day forwalking, but a great deal too cold to be standing on the pavement. " "Of course, " he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, "I could go away even now. Your reputation for hospitality wouldremain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned. " "Then you had better ring the bell, " she declared, laughing. "The walkhas given me an appetite, and I do not feel like waiting till fiveo'clock. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn. It is quitelight yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun. Would you mind drawing them back?" Ennison sprang up, but he never reached the curtains. They weresuddenly thrown aside, and a man stepped out from his hiding-place. Alittle exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison. Anna sprang to herfeet with a startled cry. "You!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? How dare you come tomy rooms!" The man stepped into the middle of the room. The last few months hadnot dealt kindly with Mr. Montague Hill. He was still flashilydressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. Hischeeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. He had the appearance of aman who has known no rest for many nights. His voice when he spoke wasalmost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. "Why not?" he exclaimed. "I have the right to be here. I hid becausethere was no other way of seeing you. I did not reckon upon--him. " He pointed to Ennison, who in his turn looked across at Anna. "You wish me to stay?" he asked, in a low tone. "I would not have you go for anything, " she answered. "Nevertheless, " Hill said doggedly, "I am here to speak to you alone. " "If you do not leave the room at once, " Anna answered calmly, "I shallring the bell for a policeman. " He raised his hand, and they saw that he was holding a small revolver. "You need not be alarmed, " he said. "I do not wish to use this. I camehere peaceably, and I only ask for a few words with you. But I mean tohave them. No, you don't!" Ennison had moved stealthily a little nearer to him, and lookedsuddenly into the dark muzzle of the revolver. "If you interfere between us, " the man said, "it will go hardly withyou. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. I have theright also to throw you out. " Ennison obeyed Anna's gesture, and was silent. "You can say what you have to say before Mr. Ennison, if at all, " Annadeclared calmly. "In any case, I decline to see you alone. " "Very well, " the man answered. "I have come to tell you this. You aremy wife, and I am determined to claim you. We were properly married, and the certificate is at my lawyer's. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person. I know that you were disappointedbecause I did not turn out to be the millionaire. Perhaps I deceivedyou about it. However, that's over and done with. I'll make anyreasonable arrangement you like. I don't want to stop your singing. You can live just about how you like. But you belong to me--and I wantyou. " He paused for a moment, and then suddenly continued. His voice hadbroken. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. "You did your best to kill me, " he said. "You might have given me achance, anyway. I'm not such a bad sort. You know--I worship you. Ihave done from the first moment I saw you. I can't rest or work orsettle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. I want you. I've got to have you, and by God I will. " He took a quick step forward. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity ofher features. "Listen, " she said. "I have heard these things from you before, andyou have had my answer. Understand once and for all that that answeris final. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said. Iwill not be persecuted in this way by you. " "You do not deny that you are my wife, " he asked hoarsely. "Youcannot! Oh, you cannot. " "I have denied it, " she answered. "Why will you not be sensible? Goback to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Parisand this absurd delusion of yours. " "Delusion!" he muttered, glaring at her. "Delusion!" "You can call it what you like, " she said. "In any case you will neverreceive any different sort of answer from me. Stay where you are, Mr. Ennison. " With a swift movement she gained the bell and rang it. The man's handflashed out, but immediately afterwards an oath and a cry of painbroke from his lips. The pistol fell to the floor. Ennison kicked itaway with his foot. "I shall send for a policeman, " Anna said, "directly my maid answersthe bell--unless you choose to go before. " The man made no attempt to recover the revolver. He walked unsteadilytowards the door. "Very well, " he said, "I will go. But, " and he faced them both with astill expressionless glance, "this is not the end!" * * * * * Anna recovered her spirits with marvellous facility. It was Ennisonwho for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued. "You are absurd, " she declared. "It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over--and my toasted scones are delicious. Do have another. " "It is over for now, " he answered, "but I cannot bear to think thatyou are subject to this sort of thing. " She shrugged her shoulders slightly. Some of the delicate colour whichthe afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. "It is an annoyance, my friend, " she said, "not a tragedy. " "It might become one, " he answered. "The man is dangerous. " She looked thoughtfully into the fire. "I am afraid, " she said, "that he must have a skeleton key to theserooms. If so I shall have to leave. " "You cannot play at hide-and-seek with this creature all your life, "he answered. "Let your friends act for you. There must be ways ofgetting rid of him. " "I am afraid, " she murmured, "that it would be difficult. He reallydeserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. " He drew a little nearer to her. The lamp was not yet lit, and in thedim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her avertedface. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers--she turned atonce to look at him. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter thanusual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to bea sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. Nevertheless shewithdrew her hand. "Let me help you, " he begged. "Indeed, you could have no more faithfulfriend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you. " Her hand fell back into her lap. He touched it again, and this time itwas not withdrawn. "That is very nice of you, " she said. "But it is so difficult----" "Not at all, " he answered eagerly. "I wish you would come and see mylawyers. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen inParis--if even you ever saw him there. You need not tell me, but alawyer is different. His client's story is safe with him. He wouldadvise you how to get rid of the fellow. " "I will think of it, " she promised. "You must do more than think of it, " he urged. "It is intolerable thatyou should be followed about by such a creature. I am sure that he canbe got rid of. " She turned and looked at him. Her face scarcely reflected hisenthusiasm. "It may be more difficult than you think, " she said. "You see you donot 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 especiallybeing more silent than usual. At last she glanced at a little clock inthe corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. "Heavens, look at the time!" she exclaimed. "It is incredible. Ishall 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 amgoing to the 'Unusual' with you. Your maid would not be of the leastprotection. " "But your dinner!" she protested. "You will be so late. " He laughed. "You cannot seriously believe, " he said, "that at the present moment Icare 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 youreally 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 orthe magazines. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each ofthe elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, apolitician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. Yet hewas in a state of hopeless bewilderment. He was absolutely unable tofocus his ideas. The girl who had just left the room was as great amystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her inPiccadilly and taken her to tea. And behind--there was Paris, memoriesof amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heartbeat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. For the first time adefinite doubt possessed him. A woman cannot change her soul. Then itwas the woman herself who was changed. Anna was not "Alcide" of the"Ambassador's, " whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances hadcalled him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. It wasimpossible. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling withcommon-sense, his own apprehension. He rose at once to his feet andturned a white face upon her. "I am going to break a covenant, " he cried. "I cannot keep silence anylonger. " "You are going to speak to me of things which happened before we metin London?" she asked quietly. "Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. I must!" She threw open the door and pointed to it. "My word holds, " she said. "If you speak--farewell. " He stood quite silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her face. Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him. He was suddenlycalm. "I shall not speak, " he said, "now or at any other time. Come!" They went out together and he called a hansom. From the oppositecorner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stoodand glowered at them. _Chapter XX_ ANNA'S SURRENDER "This is indeed a gala night, " said Ennison, raising his glass, andwatching for a moment the golden bubbles. "Was it really only thisafternoon that I met you in St. James' Park?" Anna nodded, and made a careful selection from a dish of quails. "It was just an hour before teatime, " she remarked. "I have hadnothing since, and it seems a very long time. " "An appetite like yours, " he said resignedly, "is fatal to allsentiment. " "Not in the least, " she assured him. "I find the two inseparable. " He sighed. "I have noticed, " he said, "that you seem to delight in taking atopsy-turvy view of life. It arises, I think, from an over developedsense of humour. You would find things to laugh at even in ArtemusWard. " "You do not understand me at all, " she declared. "I think that you arevery dense. Besides, your remark is not in the least complimentary. Ihave always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with asense of humour. " So they talked on whilst supper was served, falling easily into thespirit of the place, and yet both of them conscious of some new thingunderlying the gaiety of their tongues and manner. Anna, in herstrange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. Without a singleornament about her neck, or hair, wearing the plainest of black gowns, out of which her shoulders shone gleaming white, she was easily themost noticeable and the most distinguished-looking woman in the room. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeperquality in her tone. She was herself conscious of a recklessness ofspirits almost hysterical. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. Theterrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallenfrom her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with ashudder even from the memory. An acute sense of living was in herveins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Ennison too, alwayshandsome and _debonnair_, seemed transported out of his calm self. Histongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. He said daringthings with a grace which made them irresistible, his eyes flashedback upon her some eloquent but silent appreciation of the change inher manner towards him. And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. It was he who saw them first coming down the room--Annabel in awonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. He bent over to Anna at once. "It is your sister and her husband, " he said. "They are coming pastour table. " Annabel saw Ennison first, and noticing his single companion calmlyignored him. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange herflowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progressdown the room. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. His faceclouded with anger. It was after all a momentary affair. Annabel passed on with a strainednod to her sister, and Sir John's bow was a miracle of icydispleasure. They vanished through the doorway. Anna and her escortexchanged glances. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing. "How do you feel?" she asked. "Limp, " he answered. "As a matter of fact, I deserve to. I was engagedto dine with your sister and her husband, and I sent a wire. " "It was exceedingly wrong of you, " Anna declared. "Before I came toEngland I was told that there were two things which an Englishman whowas _comme-il-faut_ never did. The first was to break a dinnerengagement. " "And the second?" "Make love to a single woman. " "Your knowledge of our ways, " he murmured "is profound. Yet, I supposethat at the present moment I am the most envied man in the room. " Her eyes were lit with humour. To have spoken lightly on such asubject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. "But you do not know, " she whispered, "whether I am a married woman ornot. There is Mr. Montague Hill. " The lights were lowered, and an attentive waiter hovered round Anna'scloak. They left the room amongst the last, and Ennison had almost toelbow his way through a group of acquaintances who had all somepretext for detaining him, to which he absolutely refused to listen. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. The two greathotels on their right were still ablaze with lights. On their left theriver, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and ahuge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon theblack water. A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces. Anna leaned backwith half closed eyes. "Delicious!" she murmured. His fingers closed upon her hand. She yielded it without protest, asthough unconsciously. Not a word passed between them. It seemed to himthat speech would be an anticlimax. He paid the cab, and turned to follow her. She passed inside andupstairs without a word. In her little sitting-room she turned on theelectric light and looked around half fearfully. "Please search everywhere, " she said. "I am going through the otherrooms. I shall not let you go till I am quite sure. " "If he has a key, " Ennison said, "how are you to be safe?" "I had bolts fitted on the doors yesterday, " she answered. "If he isnot here now I can make myself safe. " It was certain that he was not there. Anna came back into thesitting-room with a little sigh of relief. "Indeed, " she said, "it was very fortunate that I should have met youthis afternoon. Either Sydney or Mr. Brendon always comes home withme, and to-night both are away. Mary is very good, but she is toonervous to be the slightest protection. " "I am very glad, " he answered, in a low tone. "It has been adelightful evening for me. " "And for me, " Anna echoed. A curious silence ensued. Anna was sitting before the fire a littledistance from him--Ennison himself remained standing. Some shadow ofreserve seemed to have crept up between them. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. "It is strange that we should have met Annabel, " she said. "I amafraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain. " He was very indifferent. In fact he was thinking of other things. "I am going, " he said, "to be impertinent. I do not understand why youand your sister should not see more of one another. You must be lonelyhere with only a few men friends. " She shook her head. "Loneliness, " she said, "is a luxury which I never permit myself. Besides--there is Sir John. " "Sir John is an ass!" he declared. "He is Annabel's husband, " she reminded him. "Annabel!" He looked at her thoughtfully. "It is rather odd, " he said, "but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. " "Many other people, " she remarked, "have made the same mistake. " "Again, " he said, "I am going to be impertinent. I never met yoursister in Paris, but I heard about her more than once. She is not inthe least like the descriptions of her. " "She has changed a good deal, " Anna admitted. "There is some mystery about you both, " he exclaimed, with suddenearnestness. "No, don't interrupt me. Why may I not be your friend?Somehow or other I feel that you have been driven into a falseposition. You represent to me an enigma, the solution of which hasbecome the one desire of my life. I want to give you warning that Ihave set myself to solve it. To-morrow I am going to Paris. " She seemed unmoved, but she did not look at him. "To Paris! But why? What do you hope to discover there?" "I do not know, " he answered, "but I am going to see David Courtlaw. " Then she looked up at him with frightened eyes. "David Courtlaw!" she repeated. "What has he to do with it?" "He was your sister's master--her friend. A few days ago I saw himleave your house. He was like a man beside himself. He began to tellme something--and stopped. I am going to ask him to finish it. " She rose up. "I forbid it!" she said firmly. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. She was verypale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. "I will tell you as much as this, " she continued. "There is a secret. I admit it. Set yourself to find it out, if you will--but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. " "It is for your good--your good only I am thinking, " he declared. "Then let me be the judge of what is best, " she answered. He was silent. He felt his heart beat faster and faster--hisself-restraint slipping away. After all, what did it matter?--it oranything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of thelight which was burning in his eyes. A quick flush stained her cheeks. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace. "No!" she exclaimed. "You must not. It is impossible. " His arms were around her. He only laughed his defiance. "I will make it possible, " he cried. "I will make all thingspossible. " Anna was bewildered. She did not know herself. Only she was consciousof an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. She gave her lips to hiswithout resistance. All her protests seemed stifled before she couldfind words to utter them. With a little sigh of happiness she acceptedthis new thing. _Chapter XXI_ HER SISTER'S SECRET "I think, " Lady Ferringhall said, "that you are talking veryfoolishly. I was quite as much annoyed as you were to see Mr. Ennisonwith my sister last night. But apart from that, you have no particularobjection to him, I suppose?" "The occurrence of last night is quite sufficient in itself, " Sir Johnanswered, "to make me wish to discontinue Mr. Ennison's acquaintance. I should think, Anna, that your own sense--er--of propriety wouldenable you to see this. It is not possible for us to be on friendlyterms with a young man who has been seen in a public place, havingsupper alone with your sister after midnight. The fact itself isregrettable enough--regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. To receive him here afterwards would be most repugnant to me. " "He probably does not know of the relationship, " Annabel remarked. "I imagine, " Sir John said, "that your sister would acquaint him withit. In any case, he is liable to discover it at any time. My ownimpression is that he already knows. " "Why do you think so?" she asked. "I noticed him call her attention to us as we passed down the room, "he answered. "Of course he may merely have been telling her who wewere, but I think it improbable. " "Apart from the fact of his acquaintance with Anna--Annabel, " LadyFerringhall said quickly, "may I ask if you have any other objectionto Mr. Ennison?" Sir John hesitated. "To the young man himself, " he answered, "no! I simply object to hiscalling here two or three times a week during my absence. " "How absurd!" Annabel declared. "How could he call except in yourabsence, as you are never at home in the afternoon. And if I cared tohave him come every day, why shouldn't he? I find him very amusing andvery useful as well. He brought his mother to call, and as you knowthe Countess goes scarcely anywhere. Hers is quite the most exclusiveset in London. " "My feeling in the matter, " Sir John said, "is as I have stated. Further, I do not care for you to accept social obligations from Mr. Ennison, or any other young man. " "You are jealous, " she declared contemptuously. "If I am, " he answered, reddening, "you can scarcely assert that it iswithout a cause. You will forgive my remarking, Anna, that I considerthere is a great change in your manner towards me and your generaldeportment since our marriage. " Annabel laughed gaily. "My dear man, " she exclaimed, "wasn't that a foregone conclusion?" "You treat the matter lightly, " he continued. "To me it seems seriousenough. I have fulfilled my part of our marriage contract. Can youwonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?" "I am not aware, " she answered, "that I have ever failed in doing so. " "You are at least aware, " he said, "that you have on several recentoccasions acted in direct opposition to my wishes. " "For example?" "Your dyed hair. I was perfectly satisfied with your appearance. Iconsider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. Thenyou have altered not only that, but your manner of dressing it. Youhave darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style ofdress. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate fromyour personal appearance all that reminded me of you--when we firstmet. " "Well, " she said, "has there not been some reason for this? Thelikeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark. You forgetthat every one is going to the 'Unusual' to see her. " He frowned heavily. "I wish that I could forget it, " he said. "Fortunately I believe thatthe relationship is not generally known. I trust that no unpleasantrumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate. " Annabel yawned. "They might do you good, " she remarked. "'Alcide' is very popular. " Sir John turned towards the door. "It does not appear to me, " he said, stiffly, "to be an affair forjests. " Annabel laughed derisively and took up her book. She heard herhusband's heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of hiscarriage as he drove off. Then she threw the volume away with a littleimpatient exclamation. She rose from her chair, and began walking upand down the room restlessly. Every now and then she fingered anornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herselfthoughtfully. "I am getting plain, " she said, with a little shudder. "This life iskilling me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!" Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. She went to her room andchanged the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a darkwalking dress. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, andtaking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna's flat. Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. She rose at once witha little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. "My dear Annabel, " she said, "this is delightful, but I thought thatit was forbidden. " "It is, " Annabel answered shortly. "But I wanted to see you. " Anna wheeled an easy chair to the fire. "You will have some tea?" she asked. Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. She was lookingabout her, and her face was dark with anger. The little room wasfragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidencesof well being. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which hadbeen burning within her since the night of her visit to the"Unusual. " Her voice trembled with suppressed passion. "I have come for an explanation, " she said. "You are an impostor. Howdare you use my name and sing my songs?" Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. "Annabel!" she exclaimed. "Why, what is the matter with you? What doyou mean?" Annabel laughed scornfully. "Oh, you know, " she said. "Don't be a hypocrite. You are not 'Alcide. 'You have no right to call yourself 'Alcide. ' You used to declare thatyou hated the name. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give itall up, never to go near the 'Ambassador's' again. And yet the momentI am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in myrags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, allon my reputation. " "Annabel! Annabel!" Annabel stamped her foot. Her tone was hoarse with passion. "Oh, you can act!" she cried. "You can look as innocent and shocked asyou please. I want to know who sent you those. " She pointed with shaking fingers to a great bunch of dark redcarnations, thrust carelessly into a deep china bowl, to which thecard was still attached. Anna followed her finger, and looked backinto her sister's face. "They were sent to me by Mr. Nigel Ennison, Annabel. How on earth doesit concern you?" Annabel laughed hardly. "Concern me!" she repeated fiercely. "You are not content then withstealing from me my name. You would steal from me then the only man Iever cared a snap of the fingers about. They are not your flowers. They are mine! They were sent to 'Alcide' not to you. " Anna rose to her feet. At last she was roused. Her cheeks wereflushed, and her eyes bright. "Annabel, " she said, "you are my sister, or I would bid you take theflowers if you care for them, and leave the room. But behind thesethings which you have said to me there must be others of which I knownothing. You speak as one injured--as though I had been the one totake your name--as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. Inyour heart you know very well that this is absurd. It is you who tookmy name, not I yours. It is I who took the burden of your misdeedsupon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. It is I whoam persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. " Annabel shivered a little and looked around her. "He does not come here, " she exclaimed, quickly. "He spends hours of every day on the pavement below, " Anna answeredcalmly. "I have been bearing this--for your sake. Shall I send him toSir John?" Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. "It was your own fault, " she exclaimed. "He would never have found youout if you had not personated me. " "On the contrary, " Anna whispered quietly, "we met in a smallboarding-house where I was stopping. " "You have not told me yet, " Annabel said, "how it is that you havedared to personate me. To call yourself 'Alcide'! Your hair, yourgestures, your voice, all mine! Oh, how dared you do it?" "You must not forget, " Anna said calmly, "that it is necessary for mealso--to live. I arrived here with something less than five pounds inmy pocket. My reception at West Kensington you know of. I was theblack sheep, I was hurried out of the way. You did not complain thenthat I personated you--no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, andfor your sake I lied. " "You did not----" "Wait, Annabel! When I arrived in London I went to live in thecheapest place I could find. I set myself to find employment. Ioffered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. I would evenhave taken a place as waitress in a tea shop. I walked London till thesoles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. I ateonly enough to keep body and soul together. " "There was no need for such heroism, " Annabel said coldly. "You hadonly to ask----" "Do you think, " Anna interrupted, with a note of passion tremblingalso in her tone, "that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the manto whom I had lied for your sake. It was not possible. I went at lastwhen I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent. Bychance I went to one who had known you in Paris. " "Well!" "He greeted me effusively. He offered me at once an engagement. I toldhim that I was not 'Alcide. ' He only laughed. He had seen theannouncement of your marriage in the papers, and he imagined that Isimply wanted to remain unknown because of your husband's puritanism. I sang to him, and he was satisfied. I did not appear, I have neverannounced myself as 'Alcide. ' It was the Press who forced the identityupon me. " "They were my posters, " Annabel said. "The ones Cariolus did for me. " "The posters at least, " Anna answered quietly, "I have some claim to. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw's studyof me, and sent it to Cariolus. You denied it at the time--butunfortunately I have proof. Mr. Courtlaw found the study in Cariolus'studio. " Annabel laughed hardly. "What did it matter?" she cried. "We are, or rather we were, so muchalike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for theother. It saved me the bother of being studied. " "It convinced Mr. Earles that I was 'Alcide, '" Anna remarked quietly. "We will convince him now to the contrary, " Annabel answered. Anna looked at her, startled. "What do you mean?" she asked. Annabel set her teeth hard, and turned fiercely towards Anna. "It means that I have had enough of this slavery, " she declared. "Myhusband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead isimpossible for me. It takes too many years to climb even a step in thesocial ladder. I've had enough of it. I want my freedom. " "You mean to say, " Anna said slowly, "that you are going to leave yourhusband?" "Yes. " "You are willing to give up your position, your beautiful houses, yourcarriages and milliner's accounts to come back to Bohemianism?" "Why not?" Annabel declared. "I am sick of it. It is dull--deadlydull. " "And what about this man--Mr. Montague Hill?" Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself withthe back of a chair. She looked stealthily at Anna. "You have succeeded a little too well in your personation, " she saidbitterly, "to get rid very easily of Mr. Montague Hill. You are agreat deal more like what I was a few months ago than I am now. " Anna laughed softly. "You propose, then, " she remarked, "that I shall still be saddled witha pseudo husband. I think not, Annabel. You are welcome to proclaimyourself 'Alcide' if you will. I would even make over my engagement toyou, if Mr. Earles would permit. But I should certainly want to be ridof Mr. Montague Hill, and I do not think that under thosecircumstances I should be long about it. " Annabel sank suddenly into a chair. Her knees were trembling, herwhole frame was shaken with sobs. "Anna, " she moaned, "I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. But oh, howweary I am! I know. If only--Anna, tell me, " she broke off suddenly, "how did you get to know Mr. Ennison?" "He spoke to me, thinking that I was you, " Anna answered. "I likedhim, and I never undeceived him. " "And he sat at my table, " Annabel said bitterly, "and yet he did notknow me. " Anna glanced up. "You must remember, " she said, "that you yourself are responsible foryour altered looks. " "For the others, " Annabel said tearfully, "that is well enough. Butfor him----" Something in her sister's tone startled Anna. She looked at her for amoment fixedly. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. Hervoice seemed to come from a long way off. "What do you mean, Annabel? You only knew Mr. Ennison slightly----" There was a dead silence in the little room. Anna sat with the face ofa Sphinx--waiting. Annabel thought, and thought again. "I knew Mr. Ennison better than I have ever told you, " she saidslowly. "Go on!" "You know--in Paris they coupled my name with some one's--anEnglishman's. Nigel Ennison was he. " Anna stood up. Her cheeks were aflame. Her eyes were lit withsmouldering passion. "Go on!" she commanded. "Let me know the truth. " Annabel looked down. It was hard to meet that gaze. "Does he never speak to you of--of old times?" she faltered. "Don't fence with me, " Anna cried fiercely. "The truth!" Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister's ear. _Chapter XXII_ AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She waswearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir Johnwould not be home for several hours at least. "I am delighted to see you, Mr. Ennison, " she said, letting herfingers rest in his. "Do come and cheer me up. I am bored todistraction. " He took a seat by her side. He was looking pale and ill. There wereshadows under his eyes. He returned her impressive greeting almostmechanically. "But you yourself, " she exclaimed, glancing into his face, "you toolook tired. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?" "Nothing except travelling all night, " he answered. "I am just backfrom Paris. I am bothered. I have come to you for sympathy, perhapsfor help. " "You may be sure of the one, " she murmured. "The other too if it iswithin my power. " "It is within yours--if anybody's, " he answered. "It is about yoursister, Lady Ferringhall. " Annabel gave a little gasp. The colour slowly left her cheeks, thelines of her mouth hardened. The change in her face was not a pleasantone. "About my sister, " she repeated slowly. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest toregard it. "Yes. You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?" "Yes. " "And you knew, of course, that we were old friends?" "Indeed!" "Lady Ferringhall, I love your sister. " "You what?" she repeated incredulously. "I love your sister. " Lady Ferringhall sat with half closed eyes and clenched teeth. Brute!Fool! To have come to her on such an errand. She felt a hystericaldesire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the wholemiserable truth. The effort to maintain her self-control was almostsuperhuman. "But--your people!" she gasped. "Surely Lady Ennison would object, even if it were possible. And the Duke, too--I heard him say that amarried secretary would be worse than useless to him. " "The difficulties on my own side I can deal with, " he answered. "I amnot dependent upon any one. I have plenty of money, and the Duke willnot be in the next Cabinet. My trouble is with your sister. " Lady Ferringhall was conscious of some relief. "She has refused to listen to you?" "She has behaved in a most extraordinary manner, " he answered. "Weparted--that night the best of friends. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. I suppose I was a littleidiotic--I don't think we either of us mentioned the future, but itwas arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea withher. When I went I was refused admittance. I have since received amost extraordinary letter from her. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. She simply refuses to see or hear fromme again. I went to the theatre that night. I waited for her at theback. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her lookas long as I live. It was horrible. She looked at me as though I weresome unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin inthe calendar. I could not have spoken to her. It took my breath away. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone. My letters arereturned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across thedoorstep. " "The explanation seems to me to be reasonably simple, " Annabel saidcoldly. "You seem to forget that my sister is--married. " "If she is, " he answered, "I am convinced that there are circumstancesin connexion with that marriage which would make a divorce easy. " "You would marry a divorcée?" she asked. "I would marry your sister anyhow, under any circumstances, " heanswered. She looked at him curiously. "I want to ask you a question, " she said abruptly. "This wonderfulaffection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meetingwith her in Paris?" He hesitated. "I admired your sister in Paris, " he answered, "but I do not believethat I regard her now as altogether the same person. Something hashappened to change her marvellously, either that, or she wilfullydeceived me and every one else in those days as to her real self. Shewas a much lighter and more frivolous person, very charming andcompanionable--but with a difference--a great difference. I wonderwhether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall, " he went on, with a suddenglance at her, "if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great dealmore of what she was like then, except of course that your complexionand colouring are altogether different. " "I am highly flattered, " she remarked, with subtle irony. "Will you help me?" he asked. "What can I do?" "Go and see her. Find out what I have done or failed to do. Get me aninterview with her. " "Really, " she said, with a hard little laugh, "you must regard me as avery good-natured person. " "You are, " he answered unconsciously. "I am sure that you are. I wanther to tell me the whole truth about this extraordinary marriage. Wewill find some way out of it. " "You think that you can do that?" "I am sure of it, " he answered, confidently. "Those things arearranged more easily in any other country than England. At any rateshe must see me. I demand it as a right. I must know what new thinghas come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and amonster the next. " She leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of "Alcide"as he had first known her. "I wonder, " she said, "how much you care. " "I care as a man cares only once in his life, " he answered promptly. "When it comes there is no mistaking it. " "Did it come--in Paris?" "I do not know, " he answered. "I do not think so. What does it matter?It is here, and it is here to stay. Do help me, Lady Ferringhall. Youneed not be afraid. No trouble will ever come to your sister throughme. If this idiotic marriage is binding then I will be her friend. ButI have powerful friends. I only want to know the truth, and I willmove heaven and earth to have it set aside. " "The truth, " she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. "Well----" She stopped short. He looked at her in some embarrassment. "Forgive me, " he said, "but I want to hear it from your sister. It isher duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had beentrying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. " She was silent. "You will go and see her, " he begged. "Yes, I will go, " she promised, with a queer little smile. "It isagainst my husband's orders, and I am not sure that my sister will beparticularly glad to see me. But I will go. " "I shall always be grateful to you, " he declared. "Don't be too sure of that, " she answered enigmatically. _Chapter XXIII_ MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister'sflat. There was no response. She rang again with the same result. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed athin crack between the door and the frame. She pushed the former andit opened. The latch had not fully caught. The flat was apparently empty. Annabel turned on the electric lightand made her way into the sitting-room. There was a coffee equipage onthe table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently madeup. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait forher sister's return. The clock struck half-past ten. The loneliness of the place somewhatdepressed her. She took up a book and threw it down again. Then sheexamined with curiosity some knick-knacks upon a small round table byher side. Amongst them was a revolver. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. Then for the first time she wasconscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. She felt thatshe was not alone. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to riseand fly. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt thelurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-strickencheeks. Her eyes were dilated--fixed in a horrified stare at theparting in the curtains which hung before the window. There was some one there. She had seen a man's head steal out for amoment and draw the curtains a little closer. Even now she could tracethe outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. She was whollyunable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. A little smotheredcry broke from her lips--the curtains were thrown aside and a manstepped out. She was powerless to move from her chair. All throughthat brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept himsilent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her. Shecould neither speak nor move nor cry out. "Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!" She did not speak. Her lips parted, but no words came. "What have you done to yourself?" he muttered. "You have dyed yourhair and darkened your eyebrows. But you are Annabel. I should knowyou--in Heaven or Hell. Who is the other?" "What other?" Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. Her lips were dry andcracked. "The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the 'Unusual'?They call her by your old name. Her hair and voice and figure are asyours used to be. Who is she, I say?" "My sister!" Annabel faltered. He trembled violently. He seemed to be labouring under some greatexcitement. "I am a fool, " he said. "All these days I have taken her for you. Ihave pleaded with her--no wonder that I have pleaded with her in vain. And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hearfrom me. Is it so, Annabel?" "I did not know, " she faltered, "anything about you. Why should I?" "At last, " he murmured, "at last I have found you. I must not let yougo again. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife. " "No, " she moaned, "not that. I thought--the papers said----" "You thought that I was dead, " he interrupted. "You pushed the wheelfrom my hand. You jumped, and I think that you left me. Yet you knewthat I was not dead. You came to see me in the hospital. You must haverepented a little, or you would not have done that. " "I did not come, " she faltered. "It was my sister Anna. I had leftParis. " He passed his hand wearily over his forehead. "That is where I got confused, " he said. "I opened my eyes, and shewas bending over my bedside. Then, I thought, she has repented, allwill be well. So I made haste and recovered. I came to London to lookfor you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed upwith you. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!" Annabel looked around her nervously. "These are her rooms, " she said. "Soon she will return. " "The sooner the better, " he answered. "I must explain to her. Annabel, I cannot believe it. I have found you. " His eyes were burning. He advanced a step towards her. She held outboth her hands. "No, no, " she cried. "You frighten me!" He smiled at her indulgently. "But I am your husband, " he said. "You have forgotten. I am yourhusband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. " "It was a mistake, " she faltered. "You told me that your name wasMeysey Hill. I thought that you were he. " His face darkened. "I did it for love of you, " he said. "I lied, as I would havecommitted a murder, or done any evil deed sooner than lose you. Whatdoes it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. I can keep you. You shallhave a house out at Balham or Sydenham, and two servants. You shallhave the spending of every penny of my money. Annabel, tell me thatyou did not wish me dead. Tell me that you are not sorry to see meagain. " Her passion conquered for a moment her fear. "But I am sorry, " she exclaimed. "Our marriage must be annulled. Itwas no marriage at all. " "Never, " he exclaimed vehemently. "You are mine, Annabel, and nothingshall ever make me give you up. " "But it is too late, " she declared. "You have no right to hold me to abargain which on your side was a lie. I consented to become Mrs. Meysey Hill--never your wife. " "What do you mean--by too late?" he demanded. "There is some one else whom I care for!" He laughed hardly. "Tell me his name, " he said, "and I promise that he shall nevertrouble you. But you, " he continued, moving imperceptibility a littlenearer to her, "you are mine. The angels in Heaven shall not tear youfrom me. We leave this room together. I shall not part with youagain. " "No, " she cried, "I will not. I will have nothing to do with you. Youare not my husband. " He came towards her with that in his face which filled her with blindterror. "You belong to me, " he said fiercely; "the marriage certificate is inmy pocket. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. " He stepped past her to the door and closed it. Then he turned with afierce movement to take her into his arms. There was a flash and aloud report. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. "Annabel;" he moaned. "You have killed me. My wife--killed me. " With a little crash the pistol fell from her shaking fingers. Shestood looking down upon him with dilated eyes. Her faculties seemedfor a moment numbed. She could not realize what she saw. Surely it wasa dream. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in hispower, a poor helpless thing. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly onto the carpet. It could not be she who had done this. She had neverlet off a pistol in her life. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in afaint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. The smell of gunpowderwas strong in the room. It was true. She had killed him. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. Once before--but that had been different. Thistime they would call it murder. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. People werepassing in the street below. She could hear their footsteps upon thepavement. A hansom stopped a little way off. She could hear the belltinkle as the horse shook its head. There was no one stirring in theflats. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door. Shemoved a little nearer to him. It was horrible, but she must do it. She sank upon her knees andunbuttoned his coat. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff andlegal looking. She drew it out with shaking fingers. There was a greatsplash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. A deadlysickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. She staggeredto the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. Sheheld it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. Thenshe put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once moreupright. Still silence everywhere. She pulled down her veil and made her way tothe door. She turned out the electric light and gained the hall. Stillno sound. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch ofthe front door and looked out. There was no one to be seen. Shepassed down the stairs and into the street. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swiftlevel footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horriblefaintness all the time hovered about her. Then she called a hansom anddrove home. * * * * * "Miss Pellissier, " Brendon said gently, "I am afraid that some freshtrouble has come to you. " She smiled at him cheerfully. "Am I dull?" she said. "I am sorry. " "You could never be that, " he answered, "but you are at least moreserious than usual. " "Perhaps, " she said, "I am superstitious. This is my last week at the'Unusual, ' you know. We begin rehearsing on Monday at the'Garrick'. " "Surely, " he protested, "the change is all in favour of your owninclinations. It is your own choice, isn't it?" She nodded. "Yes. But I believe that Mr. Earles thinks I am a little mad, andbetween ourselves I am not sure about it myself. It is easy enough tosing these little chansons in an original way--it requires a verydifferent sort of ability to succeed on the stage. " "You have it, " he declared confidently. She laughed altogether in her old manner. "I wonder how it is, " she exclaimed, "that my friends have so muchmore confidence in me than I have in myself. " "They know you better, " he declared. "I am afraid, " she answered, "that one's friends can judge only of theexternals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realizedonly by oneself--stop. " She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they both stood still. They hadturned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flatswhere Anna lived. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swunground the corner she had seen a strange thing. The curtains which shehad left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. "There is someone in my rooms, " Anna said. "Is it your maid?" he asked. "I have given her two days' holiday, " Anna answered. "She has gonedown into the country. " "And no one else--has a key?" "I believe, " she said, "that that man must have one. I am safe while Iam there, for I have had bolts fitted everywhere, and a pane of glassin the front door. But I am always afraid that he may get in while Iam away. Look! Is that some one coming out?" The front door of the flats stood open, and through it a woman, slimand veiled, passed on to the pavement and turned with swift footstepsin the opposite direction. Anna watched her with curious eyes. "Is it any one you know?" Brendon asked. "I am not sure, " Anna answered. "But, of course, she may have comefrom one of the other flats. " "Perhaps, " he said, "you had better let me have your key, and I willgo up and explore. " "We will go together, " she answered. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up theoutside stone steps of the flat. Anna herself opened the hall door. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. Silence! ThenAnna clutched her companion's arm. "What was that?" she asked sharply. He had heard nothing. They both listened intently. Again silence. "I thought that I heard a groan, " Anna whispered. He laughed reassuringly. "I heard nothing, " he declared, "and my ears are good. Come. " He threw open the door of the sitting-room and switched on theelectric light. "There is no--Good God!" he exclaimed. He turned round to keep Anna out by force if possible, but he was toolate. She was by his side. She too had seen. The thin stream of bloodon which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almostto her feet. _Chapter XXIV_ A CASE FOR THE POLICE After that first horrible moment it was perhaps Anna who was the moreself-possessed. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gentlyunbuttoned his waistcoat. Then she looked up at Brendon. "You must fetch a doctor, " she said. "I do not think that he is quitedead. " "And leave you here alone?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper. "Come withme. " "I am not afraid, " she answered. "Please hurry. " He reeled out of the room. Anna was afterwards astonished at her ownself-possession. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where theblood seemed to be coming from. Then she stood up and looked aroundthe room. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs ordisarranged furniture. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burntpaper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Onthe floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. Anna saw it, and for the first time found herself trembling. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in frontof her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself withdamning insistence. It was Annabel's. The lace was family lace, easilyrecognizable. The perfume was the only one she ever used. Annabel hadbeen here then. It was she who had come out from the flat only a fewminutes before. It was she---- Anna's nerves were not easily shaken, but she found herself suddenlyclutching at the table for support. The room was reeling, or was itthat she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supremeeffort. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. She took upthe poker and stirred the fire vigorously. Almost at the same momentthe door opened and Brendon entered, followed by the doctor. Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of guilt, the pokerstill in her hand. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to herside and took the poker from her. "Forgive me, madam, " he said stiffly, "but in such a case as this itis better that nothing in the room should be disturbed until thearrival of the police. You have been burning paper, I see. " "Are you a detective or a doctor?" she asked calmly. "Do you need meto remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?" He dropped on his knees by the man's side and made a hurriedexamination. "Who tied this scarf here?" he asked, looking up. "I did, " Anna answered. "I hope that it has not done any harm. " "He would have been dead before now without it, " the doctor answeredshortly. "Get me some brandy and my bag. " It was nearly half an hour before they dared ask him the question. "Will he live?" The doctor shook his head. "It is very doubtful, " he said. "You must send for the police at once, you know. You, sir, " he added, turning to Brendon, "had better take mycard round to the police station in Werner Street and ask thatDetective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business. " "Is it necessary to send for the police?" Anna asked. "Absolutely, " the doctor answered, "and the sooner the better. This isa case either of suicide or murder. The police are concerned in it ineither event. " "Please go then, Mr. Brendon, " Anna said. "You will come back, won'tyou?" He nodded cheerfully. "Of course I will, " he answered. The doctor and Anna were left alone. Every moment or two he bent overhis patient. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna's eyes as much aspossible. "Does he live here?" he asked her presently. "No. " "Far away?" "I have no idea, " Anna answered. "Who is the tenant of these rooms?" he inquired. "I am. " "You will have no objection to his remaining here?" he asked. "A moveof any sort would certainly be fatal. " "Of course not, " Anna said. "Had he better have a nurse? I will beresponsible for anything of that sort. " "If he lives through the next hour, " the doctor answered, "I will sendsome one. Do you know anything of his friends? Is there any one forwhom we ought to send?" "I know very little of him beyond his name, " Anna answered. "I knownothing whatever of his friends or his home. He used to live in aboarding-house in Russell Square. That is where I first knew him. " The doctor looked at her thoughtfully. Perhaps for the first time herealized that Anna was by no means an ordinary person. His patient wasdistinctly of a different order of life. It was possible that hisfirst impressions had not been correct. "Your name, I believe, is----" "Pellissier, " Anna answered. "Allow me, " the doctor said, "to give you a word of advice, MissPellissier. A detective will be here in a few moments to makeinquiries into this affair. You may have something to conceal, you maynot. Tell the whole truth. It always comes out sooner or later. Don'ttry to shield anybody or hide anything. It is bad policy. " Anna smiled very faintly. "I thank you for your advice, " she said. "I can assure you that it wasquite unnecessary. I know less about this affair perhaps than yousuppose. What I do know I shall have no hesitation in telling anyonewho has the right to ask. " "Just so, " the doctor remarked drily. "And if I were you I would keepaway from the fire. " Brendon reappeared, followed by a tall thin man with a stubbly brownmoustache and restless grey eyes. The doctor nodded to him curtly. "Good evening, Dorling, " he said. "Before you do anything else Ishould advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from thegrate. I know nothing about this affair, but some one has been burningdocuments. " The detective went down on his hands and knees. With delicate touch herescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful littleparcel. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the woundedman. "Shot through the lungs, " he remarked. The doctor nodded. "Bad hemorrhage, " he said. "I am going to fetch some things that willbe wanted if he pulls through the next hour. I found him lying likethis, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been deadby now. " The doctor glanced towards Anna. Considering his convictions he feltthat his remark was a generous one. Anna's face however was whollyimpassive. He took up his hat and went. The detective rapidly sketched theappearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol fromunder the table. Then he turned to Anna. "Can you give me any information as to this affair?" he asked. "I will tell you all that I know, " Anna said. "My name is AnnaPellissier, sometimes called Annabel. I am engaged to sing everyevening at the 'Unusual' music hall. This man's name is MontagueHill. I saw him first a few months ago at Mrs. White's boarding-housein Russell Square. He subjected me there to great annoyance byclaiming me as his wife. As a matter of fact, I had never spoken tohim before in my life. Since then he has persistently annoyed me. Ihave suspected him of possessing a skeleton key to my apartments. To-night I locked up my flat at six o'clock. It was then, I am sure, empty. I dined with a friend and went to the 'Unusual. ' At a quarterpast eleven I returned here with this gentleman, Mr. Brendon. As weturned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light wasburning in this room. We stopped for a moment to watch it, and almostimmediately it was turned out. We came on here at once. I found thedoor locked as usual, but when we entered this room everything was asyou see. Nothing has been touched since. " The detective nodded. "A very clear statement, madam, " he said. "From what you saw from theopposite pavement then, it is certain that some person who was able tomove about was in this room only a minute or so before you enteredit?" "That is so, " Anna answered. "You met no one upon the stairs, or saw no one leave the flats?" "No one, " Anna answered firmly. "Then either this man shot himself or some one else shot himimmediately before your arrival--or rather if it was not himself theperson who did it was in the room, say two minutes, before youarrived. " "That is so, " Anna admitted. "I will not trouble you with any questions about the other occupantsof the flats, " Mr. Dorling said. "I shall have to go through thebuilding. You say that this gentleman was with you?" "I was, " Brendon answered, "most providentially. " "You did not notice anything which may have escaped this lady? You sawno one leave the flats?" "No one, " Brendon answered. "You heard no pistol-shot?" "None. " The detective turned again to Anna. "You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?" heasked. "No. " "There is no one else who has a key to your rooms?" "No one except my maid, who is away in Wiltshire. " "The inference is, then, " the detective said smoothly, "that this manobtained admission to your rooms by means of a false key, that heburnt some papers here and shot himself within a few moments of yourreturn. Either that or some other person also obtained admission hereand shot him, and that person is either still upon the premises orescaped without your notice. " "I suppose, " Anna said, "that those are reasonable deductions. " The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. "I brought a man with me who is posted outside, " he remarked. "Withyour permission I should like to search the remainder of your rooms. " Anna showed him the way. "Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered whathad happened?" he asked. "Mr. Brendon went for the doctor, " Anna answered. "I have not leftthis apartment myself. " Nothing unusual was discovered in any other part of the flat. Whilethey were still engaged in looking round the doctor returned with anurse and assistant. "With your permission, " he said to Anna, "I shall arrange a bed forhim where he is. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving hislife; there would be none at all if he were moved. " "You can make any arrangements you like, " Anna declared. "I shallleave the flat to you and go to a hotel. " "You would perhaps be so good as to allow one of my men to accompanyyou and see you settled, " Mr. Dorling said deferentially. "In theevent of his death we should require you at once to attend at theinquest. " "I am going to pack my bag, " Anna answered. "In five minutes I shallbe ready. " _Chapter XXV_ THE STEEL EDGE OF THE TRUTH The manservant, with his plain black clothes and black tie, hadentered the room with a deferential little gesture. "You will pardon me, sir, " he said in a subdued tone, "but I thinkthat you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. There is LadyArlingford's reception to-night, ten till twelve, and the Hatton Houseball, marked with a cross, sir, important. I put your clothes out anhour ago. " Nigel Ennison looked up with a little start. "All right, Dunster, " he said. "I may go to Hatton House later, butyou needn't wait. I can get into my clothes. " The man hesitated. "Can I bring you anything, sir--a whisky and soda, or a liqueur?You'll excuse me, sir, but you haven't touched your coffee. " "Bring me a whisky and soda, and a box of cigarettes, " Ennisonanswered, "and then leave me alone, there's a good fellow. I'm alittle tired. " The man obeyed his orders noiselessly and then left the room. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from hiswhisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. "What a fool I am!" he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, andleaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. "And yet I wonderwhether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex. Parislooms behind--a tragedy of strange recollections--here she emergesPhoenix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making allothers beside her seem plain or vulgar. And then--this sudden thrust. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. Somethingunpardonable is laid to my charge. Only last night she saw me, andthere was horror in her eyes. .. . I have written, called--of what availis anything--against that look. .. . What the devil is the matter, Dunster?" "I beg your pardon, sir, " the man answered, "there is a lady here tosee you. " Ennison turned round sharply. "A lady, Dunster. Who is it?" The man came a little further into the room. "Lady Ferringhall, sir. " "Lady Ferringhall--alone?" Ennison exclaimed. "Quite alone, sir. " Ennison was dismayed. "For Heaven's sake, Dunster, don't let her out of the carriage, orhansom, or whatever she came in. Say I'm out, away, anything!" "I am sorry, sir, " the man answered, "but she had sent away her hansombefore I answered the bell. She is in the hall now. I----" The door was thrown open. Annabel entered. "Forgive my coming in, " she said to Ennison. "I heard your voices, andthe hall is draughty. What is the matter with you?" Dunster had withdrawn discreetly. Ennison's manner was certainly notone of a willing host. "I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall, " hesaid quietly. "For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for amoment. Dunster shall fetch you a cab. I----" She threw herself into an easy chair. She was unusually pale, and hereyes were brilliant. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. "You needn't be worried, " she said quietly. "The conventions do notmatter one little bit. You will agree with me when you have heard whatI have to say. For me that is all over and done with. " "Lady Ferringhall! Anna!" he exclaimed. She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. "Suppose you call me by my proper name, " she said quietly. "Call meAnnabel. " He started back as though he had been shot. "Annabel?" he exclaimed. "That is your sister's name. " "No, mine. " It came upon him like a flash. Innumerable little puzzles wereinstantly solved. He could only wonder that this amazing thing hadremained so long a secret to him. He remembered little whisperedspeeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman heloved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. Nevertheless it was overwhelming. "But your hair, " he gasped. "Dyed!" "And your figure?" "One's _corsetière_ arranges that. My friend, I am only grieved thatyou of all others should have been so deceived. I have seen you withAnna, and I have not known whether to be glad or sorry. I have been intorment all the while to know whether it was to Anna or to Annabelthat you were making love so charmingly. Nigel, do you know that Ihave been very jealous?" He avoided the invitation of her eyes. He was indeed still in thethroes of his bewilderment. "But Sir John?" he exclaimed. "What made you marry him? What made youleave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sisterexchange identities?" "There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel, " she said, with anervous little shudder. "It is a hateful story. Come close to me, andlet me hold your hand, dear. I am a little afraid. " There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. Hestood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. "You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about--MeyseyHill they called him?" He nodded. "Miserable bounder, " he murmured. "Turned out to be an impostor, too. " "He imposed on me, " Annabel continued. "I believed that he was thegreat multi-millionaire. He worried me to marry him. I let him take meto the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. Ithought it would be magnificent to have a great house in Paris, andmore money than any other woman. Afterwards we started for _déjeuner_in a motor. On the way he confessed. He was not Meysey Hill, but anEnglishman of business, and he had only a small income. Every one tookhim for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me. I--well, Ilost my temper. I struck him across the face, twisted the steeringwheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on theroad with the motor on top of him. This is the first act. " "Served the beast right, " Ennison declared. "I think I can tell yousomething which may be very good news for you presently. But go on. " "Act two, " she continued. "Enter Sir John, very honest, very much inlove with me. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, andI wanted to get away from Paris. Sir John heard gossip about us--aboutAnna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias 'Alcide' adancer at the _cafés chantants_, and concerning whom there were manystories which were false, and a few--which were true. I--well, Iborrowed Anna's name. I made her my unwilling confederate. Sir Johnfollowed me to London and married me. To this day he and every oneelse thinks that he married Anna. "Act three. Anna comes to London. She is poor, and she will takenothing from my husband, the man she had deceived for my sake, and he, on his part, gravely disapproves of her as 'Alcide. ' She tries everyway of earning a living and fails. Then she goes to a dramatic agent. Curiously enough nothing will persuade him that she is not 'Alcide. 'He believes that she denies it simply because owing to my marriagewith Sir John, whom they call the 'Puritan Knight, ' she wants to keepher identity secret. He forces an engagement upon her. She never callsherself 'Alcide. ' It is the Press who find her out. She is the imageof what I was like, and she has a better voice. Then enter Mr. Hillagain--alive. He meets Anna, and claims her as his wife. It is Annaagain who stands between me and ruin. " "I cannot let you go on, " Ennison interrupted. "I believe that I cangive you great news. Tell me where the fellow Hill took you for thismarriage ceremony. " "It was behind the Place de Vendome, on the other side from the Ritz. " "I knew it, " Ennison exclaimed. "Cheer up, Annabel. You were nevermarried at all. That place was closed by the police last month. It wasa bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of anEnglishman. Everything was done in the most legal and imposing way, but the whole thing was a fraud. " "Then I was never married to him at all?" Annabel said. "Never--but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape, " Ennison exclaimed. "Annabel, I begin to see why you are here. Think! Had you not betterhurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. You can tell me the rest another time. " She smiled faintly. "The rest, " she said, holding tightly to his hands, "is the mostimportant of all. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. Iwent to her rooms to-night. There was no one at home, and I was comingaway when I saw that the door was open. I decided to go in and wait. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. He had gained admissionsomehow, and he too was waiting for Anna. But--he was cleverer thanany of you. He knew me, Nigel. 'At last, ' he cried, 'I have foundyou!' He would listen to nothing. He swore that I was his wife, and--Ishot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Shot him, do youhear?" "Good God!" he exclaimed, looking at her curiously. "Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?" She nodded. "I shot him. I saw the blood come as he rolled over. I tore themarriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. And then I camehere. " "You came--here!" he repeated, vaguely. "Nigel, Nigel, " she cried. "Don't you understand? It is I whom youcared for in Paris, not Anna. She is a stranger to you. You cannotcare for her. Think of those days in Paris. Do you remember when wewent right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the riverpast Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brownfields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silveracross the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. Oh, thescent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows thatdived before us in the river. Nigel! You have not forgotten. It wasthe first day you kissed me, under the willows, coming into Veraz. Nigel, you have not forgotten!" "No, " he said, with a little bitter smile. "I have never forgotten. " She suddenly caught hold of his shoulders and drew him down towardsher. "Nigel, don't you understand. I must leave England to-night. I must gosomewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. I killed him, Nigel. Theywill say that it was murder. But if only you will come I do not care. " He shook her hands off almost roughly. He stood away from her. Shelistened with dumb fear in her eyes. "Listen, Annabel, " he said hoarsely. "We played at love-making inParis. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but weplayed it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood thegame--both of us. Other things came. We went our ways. There was nobroken faith--not even any question of anything of the sort. I met youhere as Lady Ferringhall. We have played at a little mild love-makingagain. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightlyenough between half the men and women in London. You shall know thetruth. I do not love you. I have never loved you. I call myself a manof the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what lovemeant--until I met your sister. " "You love--Anna?" she exclaimed. "I do, " he answered. "I always shall. Now if you are ready to go withme, I too am ready. We will go to Ostend by the early morning boat andchoose a hiding place from there. I will marry you when Sir John getshis divorce, and I will do all I can to keep you out of harm. But youhad better know the truth to start with. I will do all this notbecause I love you, but--because you are Anna's sister. " Annabel rose to her feet. "You are magnificent, " she said, "but the steel of your truth is alittle oversharpened. It cuts. Will you let your servant call me ahansom, " she continued, opening the door before he could reach herside. "I had no idea that it was so abominably late. " He scarcely saw her face again. She pulled her veil down, and he knewthat silence was best. "Where to?" he asked, as the hansom drove up. "Home, of course, " she answered. "Eight, Cavendish Square. " _Chapter XXVI_ ANNABEL IS WARNED "You!" David Courtlaw crossed the floor of the dingy little sitting-room withoutstretched hands. "You cannot say that you did not expect me, " he answered. "I gotSydney's telegram at ten o'clock, and caught the ten-thirty from theGare du Nord. " "It is very nice of you, " Anna said softly. "Rubbish!" he answered. "I could not have stayed in Paris and waitedfor news. Tell me exactly what has happened. Even now I do notunderstand. Is this man Hill dead?" She shook her head. "He was alive at four o'clock this afternoon, " she answered, "but thedoctors give little hope of his recovery. " "What is there to be feared?" he asked her quietly. She hesitated. "You are my friend, " she said, "if any one is. I think that I willtell you. The man Hill has persecuted me for months--ever since I havebeen in England. He claimed me for his wife, and showed to every one amarriage certificate. He shot at me at the 'Unusual, ' and themagistrates bound him over to keep the peace. I found him once in myrooms, and I believe that he had a key to my front door. Last nightMr. Brendon and I returned from the 'Unusual, ' and found him lyingin my room shot through the lungs. In the grate were some charredfragments of a marriage certificate. We fetched the doctor and thepolice. From the first I could see that neither believed my story. Iam suspected of having shot the man. " "But that is ridiculous!" he exclaimed. She laughed a little bitterly. "I am under police surveillance, " she said. "So is Mr. Brendon. " "But there is not a shadow of evidence against you, " he objected. "Theman alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to sayanything, what he would say would exonerate you. " "Yes. " There was a moment's silence. Anna's face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Hestepped quickly towards her. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. He wasbewildered. "Anna!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Look at me. What is it? Good God!" An unhappy little smile parted her lips. She clenched her handstogether and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into thefire. "I think, " she said, "that I will tell you everything. I must tellsomebody--and you would understand. " "I am your friend, " he said slowly, "whatever you may have to tell me. You can trust me, Anna. You know that. I will be as silent as thegrave. " "Not long ago, " she said, "you left me in anger, partly because ofthis exchange of identities between Annabel and myself. You said thatit would bring trouble. It has. " "Yes. " "Annabel's real reason for wishing to leave Paris, the real reason shemarried Sir John Ferringhall, was because of a very foolish thingwhich she did. It was--in connection with this man Hill. He personatedover there a millionaire named Meysey Hill, and it seems that heinduced Annabel to go through some sort of marriage with him at theEmbassy. " "Where?" Courtlaw asked quickly. "In Paris. " Courtlaw seemed about to say something. He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed. "Then there was a motor accident only an hour or so after thisceremony, and Hill was reported to be killed. Annabel believed it, came to England and married Sir John. Now you can understand why Ihave been obliged to----" "Yes, yes, I understand that, " Courtlaw interrupted. "But about lastnight. " "Annabel knew where I lived, " Anna continued slowly. "She has been tomy flat before. I saw her come out from the flat buildings two minutesbefore we entered it last night. I picked up her handkerchief on thefloor. " "You mean--you think----" "Hush! I think that he was concealed in my room, and Annabel and hemet there. What passed between them I cannot think--I dare not. Thepistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken fromhim when he forced his way in upon me before. Now you can understandwhy every minute is a torture to me. It is not for myself I fear. Butif he speaks--I fear what he may tell. " "You have been to her?" he asked. "I dare not, " she answered. "I will go, " he said. "She must be warned. She had better escape ifshe can. " Anna shook her head. "She will take her risk, " she answered. "I am sure of it. If herecovers he may not accuse her. If he dies she is safe. " He paced the room for a minute or two restlessly. "There are some people, " he said at last, "who seem fated to carry ontheir shoulders the burdens of other people. You, Anna, are one ofthem. I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister mighthave the dresses and entertainments she desired. You fell in at oncewith her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation andher follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man andcommences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. You on the otherhand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of lifeupon your own shoulders--and in addition all the burden of herfollies. " "You forget, " she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, "thatunder the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than Icould ever have earned in a year by my own labours. " "It is an accident, " he answered. "Besides, it is not so. You singbetter than Annabel ever did, you have even a better style. 'Alcide'or no 'Alcide, ' there is not a music hall manager in London or Pariswho would not give you an engagement on your own merits. " "Perhaps not, " she answered. "And yet in a very few weeks I shall havedone with it all. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, myfriend?" "I doubt it, " he answered bluntly. "You have not feeling enough. " She smiled at him. "It is like old times, " she said, "to hear these home truths. All thesame, I don't admit it. " He shook his head. "To be an actress, " he said, "you require a special and peculiartemperament. I do not believe that there has ever lived a really greatactress whose moral character from the ordinary point of view wouldbear inspection. " "Then I, " she said, "have too much character. " "Too much character, and too little sentiment, " he answered. "Too muchsensibility and too cold a heart. Too easily roused emotions and toolittle passion. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides thegreat and holy places of life--you, who have never loved?" "You have become French to the core, " she murmured. "You would believethat life is kindled by the passions alone. " There was silence between them. Then a servant girl brought in atelegram. Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw. It was fromBrendon. "Hill gradually recovering consciousness. Doctor says depositions to-night. Recovery impossible. --BRENDON. " He looked at her gravely. "I think, " he said, "that some one ought to warn her. " "It is Number 8, Cavendish Square, " she answered simply. * * * * * Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel's longlow drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. From the further end of the apartment came thelow music of a violin. Servants were passing backwards and forwardswith tea and chocolate. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. Then she came a few steps to meet him. "Mr. Courtlaw, is it not, " she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. "Reallyit is very kind of you to have found me out. " He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped, having passed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals. "Lady Mackinnor, " she said, "I am sure that you must have heard of Mr. David Courtlaw. Permit me to make him known to you--Mr. Courtlaw--LadyMackinnor. " With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, whohad come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life ordeath, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. Hebore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinatedeyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. Grudgingly he admiredher. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-lovingparasite--something quite insignificant. He had pictured her, ifindeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sittingalone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slaveto constant terror. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for morethan once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. At last hecould bear it no longer. He left his companion in the midst of aglowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostessas she moved from one group to join another. "Can you spare me a moment?" he asked. "I have a message from yoursister. " "Are you in a hurry, " she asked carelessly. "A lot of these peoplewill be going presently. " "My message is urgent, " he said firmly. "If you cannot listen to menow it must remain undelivered. " She shrugged her shoulders and led him towards a small recess. "So youcome from Anna, do you?" she remarked. "Well, what is it?" "Montague Hill is recovering consciousness, " he said. "He willprobably make a statement to-night. " "That sounds very interesting, " she answered coolly. "Perhaps I shouldbetter be able to understand its significance if you would explain tome who Mr. Montague Hill is. " "Your husband, " he answered bluntly. She did not wince. She laughed a little contemptuously. "You and Anna, " she said, "seem to have stumbled upon a mare's nest. If that is my sister's message, pray return to her and say that thedoings and sayings of Mr. Montague Hill do not interest me in theleast. " "Don't be foolish, " he said sharply. "You were seen to leave the flat, and your handkerchief was found there. Very likely by this time thewhole truth is known. " She smiled at him, an understanding smile, but her words defied him. "What a beautiful mare's nest!" she exclaimed. "I can see you and Annagroaning and nodding your grave heads together. Bah! She does not knowme very well, and you--not at all. Do have some tea, won't you? Ifyou must, go then. " Courtlaw was dismissed. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietlydressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. Heshivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. Had it comealready? _Chapter XXVII_ JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN "Confess, my dear husband, " Annabel said lightly, "that you arebewildered. " Sir John smiled. "My dear Anna, " he answered. "To tell you the truth, it has seemedjust lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. Youcertainly have not shown much desire for my society, have you?" "You have been wrapped up in your politics, " she murmured. He shook his head. "There have been other times, " he said a little sadly. Her little white hand stole across the table. There was a look in hereyes which puzzled him. "I have been very selfish, " she declared. "But you must forgive me, John. " "I would forgive you a great deal more, " he answered readily, "for thesake of an evening like this. You have actually given up adinner-party to dine alone with me. " "And made you give up a political meeting, " she reminded him. "Quite an unimportant one, " he assured her. "I would have given upanything to see you your old self again--as you are this evening. " "I am afraid I have not been very nice, " she said sadly. "Never mind. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes--as a sort ofatonement. " "I hope, " he answered, looking at her in some surprise, "that we shallhave many more such to think about. " They were lingering over their dessert. The servants had left theroom. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a littlefolded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. "I am developing ailments, " she said, meeting his questioning eyes. "It is nothing of any importance. John, I have something to say toyou. " "If you want to ask a favour, " he remarked smiling, "you have made italmost impossible for me to refuse you anything. " "I am going to ask more than a favour, " she said slowly. "I am goingto ask for your forgiveness. " He was a little uneasy. "I do not know what you mean, " he said, "but if you are referring toany little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I'm afraid, but if you treat melike this you will teach me to forget it. " Annabel looked intently into her glass. "John, " she said, "I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. Iam very, very sorry, but you must listen to me. " He relapsed into a stony silence. A few feet away, across the lowvases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-nightperhaps than ever before in her life. She wore a wonderful dress ofturquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which sheknew very well now that she would never attend. Her hair once more wasarranged with its old simplicity. There was a new softness in hereyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almostpathetic. "You remember our first meeting?" "Yes, " he answered hoarsely. "I remember it very well indeed. You havethe look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of afrightened child. " She looked into her glass. "I was frightened then, " she declared. "I am frightened now. But it isall very different. There was hope for me then. Now there is none. No, none at all. " "You talk strangely, Anna, " he said. "Go on!" "People talked to you in Paris about us, " she continued, "about Annathe virtuous and Annabel the rake. You were accused of having beenseen with the latter. You denied it, remembering that I had calledmyself Anna. You went even to our rooms and saw my sister. Anna liedto you, I lied to you. I was Annabel the rake, 'Alcide' of the musichalls. My name is Annabel, not Anna. Do you understand?" "I do not, " he answered. "How could I, when your sister sings now atthe 'Unusual' every night and the name 'Alcide' flaunts from everyplacard in London?" "The likeness between us, " she said, "before I began to disfiguremyself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. Anna failed inher painting, our money was gone, and she was forced to earn her ownliving. She came to London, and tried several things without anysuccess. " "But why----" Sir John stopped short. With a moment of inward shame he rememberedhis deportment towards Anna. It was scarcely likely that she wouldhave accepted his aid. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him aprig. He remembered it suddenly. He thought of his severe attitudetowards the girl who was rightly and with contempt refusing hismeasured help. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. This washis humiliation as well as hers. "Anna of course would not accept any money from us, " she continued. "She tried everything, and last of all she tried the stage. She wentto a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard mesing in Paris. He refused to believe that Anna was not 'Alcide. ' Hethought she wished to conceal her identity because of the connexionwith you, and he offered her an engagement at once. She was neverannounced as 'Alcide, ' but directly she walked on she simply became'Alcide' to every one. She had a better voice than I, and the rest Isuppose is only a trick. The real 'Alcide', " she wound up with a faintsmile across the table at him, "is here. " He sat like a man turned to stone. Some part of the stiff vigour ofthe man seemed to have subsided. He seemed to have shrunken in hisseat. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twicebefore he spoke. "When you married me----" Her little hand flashed out across the table. "John, " she said, "I can spare you that question. I had been about asfoolish and selfish as a girl could be. I had done the mostcompromising things, and behaved in the most ridiculous way. But fromthe rest--you saved me. " Sir John breathed a long deep sigh. He sat up in his chair again, thecolour came back to his cheeks. "John, don't!" she cried. "You think that this is all. You are goingto be generous and forgive. It isn't all. There is worse to come. There is a tragedy to come. " "Out with it, then, " he cried, almost roughly. "Don't you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God's name more can you have totell me?" Her face had become almost like a marble image. She spoke with acertain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like dropsof ice upon the man who sat listening. "Before I met you I was deluded into receiving upon friendly terms aman named Hill, who passed himself off as Meysey Hill the railway man, but who was in reality an Englishman in poor circumstances. He wasgoing to settle I forget how many millions upon me, and I think that Iwas dazzled. I went with him to what I supposed to be the BritishEmbassy, and went through a ceremony which I understood to be theusual form of the marriage one used there. Afterwards we started for amotor ride to a place outside Paris for _déjeuner_, and I suppose theman's nerve failed him. I questioned him too closely about hispossessions, and remarked upon the fact that he was a most inexpertdriver, although Meysey Hill had a great reputation as a motorist. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris. He lost control of themachine, was upset and nearly killed. " "Did you say, " Sir John asked, "that the man's name was Hill?" "Yes, " she answered. "The man who was found dead in your sister's room was named Hill?" "It is the man, " she answered. "I killed him. " Sir John clutched at the table with both hands. A slow horror wasdawning in his fixed eyes. This was not the sort of confession whichhe had been expecting. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of herwords. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. Everything was blurred. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. "Child!" he cried. "You do not know what you say. This is part of adream--some evil fancy. Think! You could not have done it. " She shook her head deliberately, hopelessly. "I think that I know very well what I am saying, " she answered. "Iwent to Anna's rooms because I felt that I must see her. He was thereconcealed, waiting her return. He recognized me at once, and hebehaved like a madman. He swore that I was his wife, that chance hadgiven me to him at last. John, he was between me and the door. Astrong coarse man, and there were things in his eyes which made myblood run cold with terror. He came over to me. I was helpless. Beside me on Anna's table was a pistol. I was not even sure whetherit was loaded. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, andfired. " "Ah!" Sir John exclaimed. "He fell over at my feet, " she continued. "I saw him stagger and sinkdown, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. I bent over him. Anna had told me that he carried always with him this bogus marriagecertificate. I undid his coat, and I took it from his pocket. I burnedit. " "But the marriage itself?" Sir John asked. "I do not understand. " "There was no marriage, " she answered. "I was very foolish to havebeen deceived even for a moment. There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man. " "Did any one see you leave the flat?" he asked. "I do not know. But David Courtlaw has been here. To-night they say hewill be conscious. He will say who it was. So there is no escape. Andlisten, John. " "Well?" "I went from Anna's flat to Nigel Ennison's rooms. I told him thetruth. I asked him to take me away, and hide me. He refused. He sentme home. " Sir John's head bent lower and lower. There was nothing left now ofthe self-assured, prosperous man of affairs. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. He looked no longer at his wife. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. There was a gentle rustling of skirts. Softly she rose to her feet. Hefelt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as sheleaned over him. He did not look up, so he did not know that in herother hand she held a glass of wine. "Dear husband, " she murmured. "I am so very, very sorry. I havebrought disgrace upon you, and I haven't been the right sort of wifeat all. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some oneelse. I should like to have had you forgive me. " He did not move. He seemed to be thinking hard. She paused for amoment. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. "Good-bye, John, " she said simply. Something in her tone made him look up. In a second the glass layshattered upon the carpet. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. "God in Heaven, Annabel!" he cried. "What were you doing?" Her voice was a little hysterical. Her unnatural calm was giving way. "It was poison--why not?" she answered. "Who is there to careand--John. " His arms were around her. He kissed her once on the lips with apassion of which, during all their days of married life, he had givenno sign. "You poor little girl!" he cried. "Forgive you, indeed. There isn't ahusband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn't have blessed that pistol inyour hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. It is nocrime, none at all. It is one of God's laws that a woman may defendher honour, even with the shedding of blood. While you talked I wasonly making our plans. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. " She was altogether hysterical now. "But I--I went to Nigel Ennison for help. I asked him--to take meaway. " She saw him flinch, but he gave no sign of it in his tone. "Perhaps, " he said, "I have been to blame. It must be my fault thatyou have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to--at such atime as this. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. You were afraid ofme, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. Bah. Little woman, you have been brave enough before. Pull yourselftogether now. Drink this!" He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to herlips. She drank it obediently. "Good, " he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. "Now listen. You go to your room and ring for your maid. I received atelegram, as you know, during dinner. It contains news of the seriousillness of a near relation at Paris. Your maid has twenty minutes topack your dressing case for one night, and you have the same time tochange into a travelling dress. In twenty minutes we meet in the hall, remember. I will tell you our plans on the way to the station. " "But you, " she exclaimed, "you are not coming. There is theelection----" He laughed derisively. "Election be hanged!" he exclaimed. "Don't be childish, Annabel. Weare off for a second honeymoon. Just one thing more. We may bestopped. Don't look so frightened. You called yourself a murderess. You are nothing of the sort. What you did is called manslaughter, andat the worst there is only a very slight penalty, nothing to befrightened about in the least. Remember that. " She kissed him passionately, and ran lightly upstairs. In the hallbelow she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to theservants. _Chapter XXVIII_ THE HISSING OF "ALCIDE" There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feetin the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. Anna, who had sung the first verse of her song, looked around thehouse, a little surprised at the absence of the applause which hadnever yet failed her. She realized in a moment what had happened. Eventhough the individual faces of her audience were not to be singledout, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearancethat something was wrong. She hesitated, and for a moment thought ofomitting her second verse altogether. The manager, however, who stoodin the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commencedthe first few bars of the music. Then the storm broke. A long shrillcat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. Then a roar ofhisses. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and thegallery, even from the stalls. And there arose too, a background ofshouts. "Who killed her husband?" "Go and nurse him, missus!" "Murderess!" Anna looked from left to right. She was as pale as death, but sheseemed to have lost the power of movement. They shouted to her fromthe wings to come off. She could not stir hand or foot. A paralyzinghorror was upon her. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes ofthose hideous shouts. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the galleryhit her upon the cheek. The stage manager came out from the wings, andtaking her hand led her off. There was more shouting. The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. Heregretted--more deeply than he could say--the occurrence of thisevening. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they wouldregret it still more. ("No, no. ") They had shown themselves grosslyignorant of facts. They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insulta lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. Hecould not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. ("Good job. ") Well, they might say that, but he knew very well thatbefore long they would regret it. Of his own certain knowledge hecould tell them that. For his own part he could not sufficientlyadmire the pluck of this lady, who, notwithstanding all that she hadbeen through, had chosen to appear this evening rather than break herengagement. He should never sufficiently be able to regret the returnwhich they had made to her. He begged their attention for the nextturn. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. She, however, had no idea ofdoing anything of the sort. She dressed rapidly and left the theatrewithout a word to any one. The whole incident was so unexpected thatneither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. The man who sat behind apigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a momentabsent. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for ahansom. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. It wasEnnison, who loomed up through the shadows. "Anna! Thank God I have found you at last. But you have not finishedsurely. Your second turn is not over, is it?" She laughed a little hardly. Even now she was dazed. The horror ofthose few minutes was still with her. "Have you not heard?" she said. "For me there is no second turn. Ihave said good-bye to it all. They hissed me!" "Beasts!" he muttered. "But was it wise to sing to-night?" "Why not? The man was nothing to me. " "You have not seen the evening paper?" "No. What about them?" He called a hansom. "They are full of the usual foolish stories. To-morrow they will allbe contradicted. To-night all London believes that he was yourhusband. " "That is why they hissed me, then?" "Of course. To-morrow they will know the truth. " She shivered. "Is this hansom for me?" she said. "Thank you--and good-bye. " "I am coming with you, " he said firmly. She shook her head. "Don't!" she begged. "You are in trouble, " he said. "No one has a better right than I to bewith you. " "You have no right at all, " she answered coldly. "I have the right of the man who loves you, " he declared. "Some dayyou will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us toremember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. " Anna gave her address to the driver. She leaned back in the cab withhalf-closed eyes. "This is all madness, " she declared wearily. "Do you think it is fairof you to persecute me just now?" "It is not persecution, Anna, " he answered gently. "Only you are thewoman I love, and you are in trouble. And you are something of aheroine, too. You see, my riddle is solved. I know all. " "You know all?" "Your sister has told me. " "You have seen her--since last night?" "Yes. " Anna shivered a little. She asked no further questions for the moment. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel's visit still freshin his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. When theyreached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. "Now you must go, " she said firmly. "I have had a trying evening and Ineed rest. " "You need help and sympathy more, Anna, " he pleaded, "and I have theright, yes I have the right to offer you both. I will not be sentaway. " "It is my wish to be alone, " she said wearily. "I can say no more. " She turned and fitted the latchkey into the door. He hesitated for amoment and then he followed her. She turned the gas up in her littlesitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. On the mantelpiecein front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel's handwriting. She looked at it with a little shudder, but she made no motion to takeit. "Will you say what you have to say, please, and go. I am tired, and Iwant to be alone. " He came and stood on the hearthrug close to her. "Anna, " he said, "you make it all indescribably hard for me. Will younot remember what has passed between us? I have the right to take myplace by your side. " "You have no right at all, " she answered. "Further than that, I amamazed that you should dare to allude to those few moments, to thatsingle moment of folly. If ever I could bring myself to ask you anyfavour, I would ask you to forget even as I have forgotten. " "Why in Heaven's name should I forget?" he cried. "I love you, Anna, and I want you for my wife. There is nothing but your pride whichstands between us. " "There is great deal more, " she answered coldly. "For one thing I amgoing to marry David Courtlaw. " He stepped back as though he had received a blow. "It is not possible, " he exclaimed. "Why not?" "Because you are mine. You have told me that you cared. Oh, you cannotescape from it. Anna, my love, you cannot have forgotten so soon. " He fancied that she was yielding, but her eyes fell once more uponthat fatal envelope, and her tone when she spoke was colder than ever. "That was a moment of madness, " she said. "I was lonely. I did notknow what I was saying. " "I will have your reason for this, " he said. "I will have your truereason. " She looked at him for a moment with fire in her eyes. "You need a reason. Ask your own conscience. What sort of a standardof life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know verywell that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. That iswhat stands between us, if you would know--that. " She pointed to the envelope still resting upon the mantelpiece. Herecognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. Her eyes notedit mercilessly. "But your sister, " he said. "What has she told you?" "Everything. " He was a little bewildered. "But, " he said, "you do not blame me altogether?" She rose to her feet. "I am tired, " she said, "and I want to rest. But if you do not leavethis room I must. " He took up his hat. "Very well, " he said. "You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have noright to treat any one as you are treating me. And yet--I love you. When you send for me I shall come back. I do not believe that you willmarry David Courtlaw. I do not think that you will dare to marryanybody else. " He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. When she was quite sure that hewas gone she took her sister's note from the mantelpiece and slowlybroke the seal. "DEAREST A---- "I lied to you. Nigel Ennison was my very good friend, but there is not the slightest reason for your not marrying him, if you wish to do so. "My husband knows all. We leave England to-night. "Ever yours, "ANNABEL. Anna moved softly to the window, and threw up the sash. Ennison haddisappeared. _Chapter XXIX_ MONTAGUE HILL PLAYS THE GAME The man opened his eyes and looked curiously about him. "Where am I?" he muttered. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. "You are in a private room of St. Felix Hospital, " he said. "Hospital? What for? What's the matter with me?" Courtlaw's voice sank to a whisper. A nurse was at the other end ofthe room. "There was an accident with a pistol in Miss Pellissier's room, " hesaid. The light of memory flashed in the man's face. His brows drew a littlenearer together. "Accident! She shot me, " he muttered. "I had found her at last, andshe shot me. Listen, you. Am I going to die?" "I am afraid that you are in a dangerous state, " Courtlaw answeredgravely. "The nurse will fetch the doctor directly. I wanted to speakto you first. " "Who are you?" "I am a friend of Miss Pellissier's, " Courtlaw answered. "Which one?" "The Miss Pellissier in whose rooms you were, and who sings at the'Unusual, '" Courtlaw answered. "The Miss Pellissier who was atWhite's with us. " The man nodded. "I remember you now, " he said. "So it seems that I was wrong. Annabelwas in hiding all the time. " "Annabel Pellissier is married, " Courtlaw said quietly. "She's my wife, " the man muttered. "It is possible, " Courtlaw said, "that you too were deceived. Wherewere you married?" "At the English Embassy in Paris. You will find the certificate in mypocket. " "And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?" Courtlawasked. "Hainault, Celeste's friend. He did everything. " "I thought so, " Courtlaw said. "You too were deceived. The place towhich you went was not the English Embassy, and the whole performancewas a fraud. I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since thenhas been closed. " "But Hainault--assured--me--that the marriage was binding. " "So it would have been at the English Embassy, " Courtlaw answered, "but the place to which you went was not the English Embassy. It wasrigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. " "But Hainault--was--a pal. I--I don't understand, " the man falteredwearily. "Hainault was Celeste's friend, and Celeste was Annabel's enemy, "Courtlaw said. "It was a plot amongst them all to humiliate her. " "Then she has never been my wife. " "Never for a second. She is the wife now of another man. " Hill closed his eyes. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. Then he opened them again suddenly, to find Courtlaw still by hisside. "It was a bad day for me, " he said, speaking slowly and painfully. "A bad thing for me when that legacy came. I thought I'd see Paris, do the thing--like a toff. And I heard 'Alcide' sing, and that littledance she did. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watchedher come in, I watched her go. She dropped a flower--it's in mypocket-book now. I couldn't rest or eat or sleep. I made Hainault'sacquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. He shook his head allthe time. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said. Shehad a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with hersister--was a lady. But one day he came to me. It was Celeste'sidea. I could be presented as Meysey Hill. We were alike. Hewas--a millionaire. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, andsince--then--I haven't had a minute's peace. God help me. " Courtlaw was alarmed at the man's pallor. "You mustn't talk any more, " he said, "but I want you to listen to mejust for a moment. The doctor will be here to see you in five minutes. The nurse sent for him as soon as she saw that you were conscious. Itis very possible that he will ask you to tell him before witnesses howyou received your wound. " The man smiled at him. "You are their friend, then?" "I am, " Courtlaw answered. "Which one?" "The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been allthe time shielding her sister. I would have married her long ago, butshe will not have me. " "Bring her--here, " Hill muttered. "I----" The door opened, and the doctor entered softly. Hill closed his eyes. Courtlaw stood up. "He has asked to see some one, " he whispered to the doctor. "Is thereany urgency?" The doctor bent over his patient, who seemed to have fallen asleep. Presently he turned to Courtlaw. "I think, " he said, "that I would fetch any one whom he has asked tosee. His condition is not unfavourable, but there may be a relapse atany moment. " So only a few minutes after Ennison's departure, while Anna stoodindeed with her sister's open letter still in her hand, Courtlaw droveup in hot haste. She opened the door to him herself. "Will you come round to the hospital?" he asked. "Hill has asked foryou, and they will take his depositions to-night. " She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. Theydrove rapidly through the emptying streets. "Will he die?" she asked. "Impossible to say, " he answered. "We have a private room at St. Felix. Everything is being done that can be. " "You are sure that he asked for me--not for Annabel?" "Certain, " Courtlaw answered. "Has he accused any one yet?" "Not yet, " he answered. "I have scarcely left his side. " He was still conscious when they reached the hospital and his statewas much more favourable. The doctor and another man were by hisbedside when they entered the room, and there were writing materialswhich had evidently been used close at hand. He recognised Anna, andat once addressed her. "Thank you--for coming, " he said. "The doctor has asked me to givethem my reasons--for shooting myself. I've told them all that wasnecessary, but I--wanted to ask your pardon--for having made myself anuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms--and to thankyou--the doctor says you bound up my wound--or I should have bled todeath. " "I forgive you willingly, " Anna said, bending over him. "It has allbeen a mistake, hasn't it?" "No more talking, " the doctor interposed. "I want two words--with Miss Pellissier alone, " Hill pleaded. The doctor frowned. "Remember, " he said, "you are not by any means a dying man now, butyou'll never pull through if you don't husband your strength. " "Two words only, " Hill repeated. They all left the room. Anna leaned over so that he needed only towhisper. "Tell your sister she was right to shoot, quite right. I meantmischief. But tell her this, too. I believed that our marriage wasgenuine. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safefrom me. " "I will tell her, " Anna promised. "She has nothing to be afraid of, " he continued. "I have signed astatement that I shot myself; bad trade and drink, both true--bothtrue. " His eyes were closed. Anna left the room on tiptoe. She and Courtlawdrove homewards together. _Chapter XXX_ SIR JOHN'S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokeylittle room writing letters. The room was worse than pokey, it wasshabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man whowas enjoying himself. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement ofhis tie and hair were almost rakish. He stamped his last letter asAnnabel entered. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid wasaccustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. "John, " she declared, "I must eat or die. Do get your hat, and we willgo to that corner café. " "Right, " he answered. "I know the place you mean--very good cookingfor such an out-of-the-way show. I'll be ready in a moment. " Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave hismoustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. "I really do not believe, " he announced with satisfaction, "that anyone would recognize me. What do you think, Annabel?" "I don't think they would, " she admitted. "You seem to have cultivatedquite a jaunty appearance, and you certainly look years younger. Onewould think that you enjoyed crawling away out of your world intohiding, with a very foolish wicked wife. " "Upon my word, " he declared, "you are right. I really am enjoying it. It is like a second honeymoon. If it wasn't for the fear that afterall--but we won't think of that. I don't believe any one could havetraced us here. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in theleast known quarter of Paris. To-night we leave for Marseilles. OnThursday we embark for South America. " "You are a marvellous courier, " she declared, as they passed into thestreet. "You see, I will take your arm. It looks so French to beaffectionate. " "There are some French customs, " he declared, "which are admirable. Ipresume that I may not kiss you in the street?" "Certainly not, sir, " she replied, laughing. "If you attempted such athing it would be in order that I should smack you hard with the palmof my hand upon the cheek. " "That is another French custom, " he remarked, "which is not soagreeable. Here we are. Shall we sit outside and drink a _petit verre_of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?" "Certainly not, " she answered. "I am already so hungry that I shallbegin on the _petit pains_. I have an appetite which I dare notincrease. " They entered the place, a pleasant little café of the sort to be metwith in the outlying parts of Paris. Most of the tables were for thosewho smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread withtablecloths and laid for dinner. Sir John and Annabel seatedthemselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a smalldark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by awaiter. "Monsieur would dine! It was very good! And Madame, of course?" with alow bow. The _carte de jour_ was before Monsieur. He had but to givehis orders. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and forthe cooking--well, he had his customers, who came from their homes tohim year after year. And always they were well satisfied. He waitedthe pleasure of Monsieur. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over aword, and anglicizing others. When he had finished he took up the winelist and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. "I am afraid, " he said to Anna afterwards, "that it was a mistake toorder the champagne sec. They will guess that I am English. " Annabel leaned back in her chair and laughed till the tears stood inher eyes. "Did you--did you really think that they would take you for aFrenchman?" she exclaimed. "I don't see why not, " he answered. "These clothes are French, and I'msure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. Perhaps Iought to have let you order the dinner, but I think I got through itpretty well. " "You did, " Anna exclaimed. "Thank Heaven, they are bringing the _horsd'oeuvres_. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines. Do take themaway from me after I have had four. " "After all, " Sir John remarked complacently, "it is astonishing howeasy it is for people with brains and a little knowledge of the worldto completely hide themselves. I am absolutely certain that up to thepresent we have escaped all notice, and I do not believe that anycasual observer would take us for English people. " A man who had been sitting with his hat tilted over his eyes at anadjacent table had risen to his feet and stood suddenly before them. "Permit me to offer you the English paper which has just arrived, SirJohn, " he said, holding out a _Daily Telegraph_. "You may find in it aparagraph of some interest to you. " Sir John was speechless. It was Annabel who caught at the paper. "You--appear to know my name, sir, " Sir John said. "Oh, yes, " the stranger remarked good-humouredly. "I know you verywell by sight, Sir John. It is my business to know most people. Wewere fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellowlodgers in the Rue d'Entrepot. I trust you will not accuse me ofdiscourtesy if I express my pleasure that henceforth our ways will lieapart. " A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John's attention. Thestranger with a bow returned to his table. "Read this, John. " "THE BUCKNALL MANSIONS MYSTERY. "Montague Hill, the man who was found lying wounded in Bucknall Mansions late on Wednesday night in the rooms of a well-known artiste, has recovered sufficiently to make a statement to the police. It appears that he was an unsuccessful admirer of the lady in question, and he admits that, under the influence of drink, he broke into her rooms, and there made a determined attempt at suicide. He further gave the name and address of the firm from whom he purchased the revolver and cartridges, a member of which firm has since corroborated his statement. "Hill's confession will finally refute a number of absurd stories which have been in circulation during the last few days. We understand that, notwithstanding the serious nature of the man's injuries, there is every possibility of his recovery. " Annabel pulled down her veil to hide the tears. Sir John filled hisglass with trembling hand. "Thank God, " he exclaimed. "The fellow is not such a blackguard, afterall. " Annabel's hand stole into his. "And I have dragged you all over here for nothing, " she murmured. "For nothing, do you call it?" he declared. "I wouldn't have beenwithout this trip for worlds. It has been a real honeymoon trip, Annabel, for I feel that it has given me a wife. " Annabel pulled up her veil. "You are a dear, " she exclaimed affectionately. "I do hope that Ishall be able to make it up to you. " Sir John's reply was incoherent. He called a waiter. "Garçon, " he said, "will you ask the gentleman at the next table if hewill do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. " The stranger came over to them smiling. He had been on the point ofleaving the restaurant. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. "I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall, " hesaid, "and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. If I mighttake the liberty, Sir John, " he added, with a humorous gleam in hiseyes, "I should like to congratulate you upon your tie. " "Oh, damn the thing!" Sir John exclaimed, tucking the loose endsinside his coat. * * * * * "I propose, " Sir John said, "that we pay for our dinner--which wehaven't had--tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. " Annabel shook her head. "Look at our clothes, " she exclaimed, "and besides, the funny littleproprietor has gone down himself to help it along. He would be sodisappointed. I am sure it will be good, John, and I could eatanything. No, let us dine here, and then go and have our coffee on theboulevards. We can take our things up with us and stay at theContinental or the Ritz. " "Excellent, " Sir John declared. "We will do Paris like the tourists, and thank God here comes dinner. " Everything was good. The garçon was tipped as he had never been tippedbefore in his life. They drove up into Paris in an open _fiacre_ witha soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath therug. They went first to a hotel, and then out again on to theboulevards. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affectedthem both. They laughed and talked and stared about them. She took hishand in hers. "Dear John, " she whispered. "We are to begin our married lifeto-night--here where I first met you. I shall only pray that I mayreward you for all your goodness to me. " Sir John, frankly oblivious of the possibility of passers-by, took herinto his arms and kissed her. Then he stood up and hailed a _fiacre_. "Hotel Ritz!" _Chapter XXXI_ ANNA'S TEA PARTY "I suppose you haven't the least idea who I am, " Lady Lescelles said, as she settled herself in Anna's most comfortable chair. "I have heard of you, of course, " Anna answered hesitatingly, "but----" "You cannot imagine what I have come to see you about. Well, I amNigel Ennison's sister!" "Oh!" Anna said. "Nigel is like all men, " Lady Lescelles continued. "He is a sadblunderer. He has helped me out of scrapes though, no end of times. Heis an awfully good sort--and now he has come to me to help him if Ican. Do you know that he is very much in love with you?" Anna smiled. "Well, " she admitted. "He has said something of the sort. " "And you have sent him about his business. He tells me that you willnot even see him. I don't want to bother you, of course. A woman has aperfect right to choose her own husband, but Nigel seemed to thinkthat there was something a little mysterious about your treatment ofhim. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you wouldnot explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn't it, but perhaps youcan make out what I mean. Don't you care for Nigel at all?" Anna was silent for a moment or two. Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leanedback and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. "I like your brother better than any other man I know, " Anna said atlast. "Well, I don't think you told him as much as that, did you?" LadyLescelles asked. "I did not, " Anna answered. "To be frank with you, Lady Lescelles, when your brother asked me the other day to be his wife I was under afalse impression as regards his relations--with some other person. Iknow now that I was mistaken. " "That sounds more promising, " Lady Lescelles declared. "May I tellNigel to come and see you again? I am not here to do his love-makingfor him, you know. I came to see you on my own account. " "Thank you very much, " Anna said. "It is very nice of you to come, butI do not think for the present, at any rate, I could give him anyother answer. I do not intend to be married, or to become engaged justat present. " "Well, why not?" Lady Lescelles asked, smiling. "I can only be a fewyears older than you, and I have been married four years. I can assureyou, I wouldn't be single again for worlds. One gets a lot more funmarried. " "Our cases are scarcely similar, " Anna remarked. "Why not?" Lady Lescelles answered. "You are one of the HampshirePellissiers, I know, and your family are quite as good as ours. As formoney, Nigel has tons of it. " "It isn't exactly that, " Anna answered, "but to tell you the truth, Icannot bear to look upon myself as a rank failure. We girls, my sisterand I, were left quite alone when our father died, and I made up mymind to make some little place in the world for myself. I triedpainting and couldn't get on. Then I came to London and tried almosteverything--all failures. I had two offers of marriage from men Iliked very much indeed, but it never occurred to me to listen toeither of them. You see I am rather obstinate. At last I tried adramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. " "Well, you can't say you're a failure there, " Lady Lescelles remarked, smiling. "I've been to hear you lots of times. " "I have been more fortunate than I deserved, " Anna answered, "but Ionly meant to stay upon the music hall stage until I could getsomething better. I am rehearsing now for a new play at the 'Garrick'and I have quite made up my mind to try and make some sort of positionfor myself as an actress. " "Do you think it is really worth while?" Lady Lescelles asked gently. "I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all yourwork will be thrown away. " Anna shook her head. "If I were to marry now, " she said, "it would be with a sense ofhumiliation. I should feel that I had been obliged to find some oneelse to fight my battles for me. " "What else, " Lady Lescelles murmured, "are men for?" Anna laughed. "Afterwards, " she said, "I should be perfectly content to haveeverything done for me. But I do think that if a girl is to feelcomfortable about it they should start fairly equal. Take your case, for instance. You brought your husband a large fortune, your peoplewere well known in society, your family interest I have heard wasuseful to him in his parliamentary career. So far as I am concerned, Iam just now a hopeless nonentity. Your brother has everything--I havenot shown myself capable even of earning my own living except in a waywhich could not possibly bring any credit upon anybody. And beyondthis, Lady Lescelles, as you must know, recent events have set a goodmany people's tongues wagging, and I am quite determined to live downall this scandal before I think of marrying any one. " "I am sure, " Lady Lescelles said, gently, "that the last considerationneed not weigh with you in the least. No one in the world is beyondthe shaft of scandal--we all catch it terribly sometimes. It simplydoesn't count. " "You are very kind, " Anna said. "I do hope I have been able to makeyou understand how I feel, that you don't consider me a hopeless prig. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and tohave views. " "I think, " Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, "that I mustsend Nigel to plead his own cause. I may tell him, at any rate, thatyou will see him?" "I shall like to see him, " Anna answered. "I really owe him somethingof an apology. " "I will tell him, " Lady Lescelles said. "And now let us leave the menalone and talk about ourselves. " * * * * * "I am delighted to see you all here, " Anna said smiling upon them frombehind the tea-tray, "but I shall have to ask you to excuse me for afew minutes. My agent is here, and he has brought his contract for meto sign. I will give you all some tea, and then I must leave you for afew minutes. " The three men, who had arrived within a minute or two of one another, received her little speech in dead silence. Ennison, who had beenstanding with his back to the window, came suddenly a little furtherinto the room. "Miss Pellissier, " he said, "I came here this afternoon hopingparticularly to see you for a few moments before you signed thatcontract. " She shook her head. "We may just as well have our talk afterwards, " she said, "and I neednot keep poor Mr. Earles waiting. " Courtlaw suddenly interposed. "May I be allowed to say, " he declared, "that I came here with thesame intention. " "And I also, " Brendon echoed. Anna was suddenly very quiet. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. "If I had three hands, " she said, with a faint smile, "I would giveone to each of you. I know that you are all my friends, and I knowthat you all have very good advice to give me. But I am afraid I am ashockingly obstinate and a very ungrateful person. No, don't let mecall myself that. I am grateful, indeed I am. But on this matter mymind is quite made up. " Ennison hesitated for a moment. "Miss Pellissier, " he said, "these gentlemen are your friends, andtherefore they are my friends. If I am to have no other opportunityI will speak before them. I came here to beg you not to sign thatcontract. I came to beg you instead to do me the honour of becomingmy wife. " "And I, " Courtlaw said, "although I have asked before in vain, havecome to ask you once more the same thing. " "And I, " Brendon said, humbly, "although I am afraid there is nochance for me, my errand was the same. " Anna looked at them for a moment with a pitiful attempt at a smile. Then her head disappeared suddenly in her hands, and her shouldersshook violently. "Please forgive me--for one moment, " she sobbed. "I--I shall be allright directly. " Brendon rushed to the piano and strummed out a tune. The others hurried to the window. And Anna was conscious of a fewmoments of exquisite emotion. After all, life had still itspulsations. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing beforehad ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it atthat moment of regret or even pity. She called them back very soon. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to havestolen into her face. She spoke readily enough, but there was a newtimidity in her manner. "My friends, " she said, "my dear friends, I am going to make the sameanswer to all of you--and that is perhaps you will say no answer atall. At present I cannot marry, I will not become bound even to anyone. It would be very hard perhaps to make you understand just how Ifeel about it. I won't try. Only I feel that you all want to make lifetoo easy for me, and I am determined to fight my own battles a littlelonger. If any of you--or all of you feel the same in six months' timefrom to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?" There was a brief silence. Ennison spoke at last. "You will sign the contract?" "I shall sign the contract. I think that I am very fortunate to haveit to sign. " "Do you mean, " Courtlaw asked, "that from now to the end of the sixmonths you do not wish to see us--any of us?" Her eyes were a little dim again. "I do mean that, " she declared. "I want to have no distractions. Mywork will be all sufficient. I have an aunt who is coming to live withme, and I do not intend to receive any visitors at all. It will be alittle lonely sometimes, " she said, looking around at them, "and Ishall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself--and I think foryou. Do not avoid me if we meet by accident, but I trust to you allnot to let the accident happen if you can help it. " Brendon rose and came towards her with outstretched hand. "Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you, " he said. "May youhave as much good fortune as you deserve, but not enough to make youforget us. " Courtlaw rose too. "You are of the genus obstinate, " he said. "I do not know whether towish you success or not. I will wish you success or failure, whicheveris the better for you. " "And I, " Ennison said, holding her fingers tightly, and forcing her tolook into his eyes, "I will tell you what I have wished for you whenwe meet six months from to-day. " _Chapter XXXII_ SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her earlymorning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it inher eyes. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, drippingwith dew, in the other the post-bag. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with floweringcreepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffeeequipage. By the side of her plate was a small key. With tremblingfingers she opened the post-bag. There was one letter. One only. She opened and read it at once. It was dated from the House of Commonson the previous day. "MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER, -- "To-morrow the six months will be up. For days I have been undecided as to whether I would come to you or no. I would like you to believe that the decision I have arrived at--to stay away--is wholly and entirely to save you pain. It should be the happiest day of your life, and I would not detract from its happiness by letting you remember for a moment that there are others to whom your inevitable decision must bring some pain. "For I know that you love Ennison. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. It was not your fault you failed. If by any chance I have made a mistake a word will bring me to you. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. "Your great success has been my joy, our joy as well as yours. You have made for yourself a unique place upon the stage. We have so many actresses who aspire to great things in the drama, not one who can interpret as you have interpreted it, the delicate finesse, the finer lights and shades of true comedy. Ennison will make a thousand enemies if he takes you from the stage. Yet I think that he will do it. "For my own part I have come fully now into my inheritance. I am bound to admit that I greatly enjoy my altered life. Every minute I spend here is an education to me. Before very long I hope to have definite work. Some of my schemes are already in hand. People shrug their shoulders and call me a crazy socialist. Yet I fancy that we who have been poor ourselves must be the best judges of the needs of the people. "You will write to me, I am sure--and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as "Your devoted friend, "WALTER BRENDON. " She set the letter down, and drew from her pocket another with aforeign post mark which had come the day before. This one too sheread. "HASSELL'S CAMP, "NEAR COLORADO. "On or about the day you receive this letter, Anna, the six months will be up. Do you expect me, I wonder. I think not. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God's wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment's revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. It is a true saying that in the mountains there is peace. One's sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman. Some day I shall come back, and I will show you on canvas the things which have come to me up here amongst the eternal silence. "Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man. But with the morning, the glorious unstained morning the passion of living would stir even the blood of a clod. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a two-edged sword and a minute of Divinity. To perdition with them all. "I shall come back, if at all, a new man. I have a new cult to teach, a new enthusiasm. I feel years younger, a man again. My first visit will be to you. I must tell you all about God's land, this marvellous virgin country, with its silent forests and dazzling peaks. I make no apology for not being with you now. You love Ennison. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. Yet I shall think of you to-day. I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. "Your friend, "DAVID COURTLAW. " "P. S. --I do not congratulate you on your success. I was certain of it. I am glad or sorry according as it has brought you happiness. " Anna's eyes were a little dim as she poured out her coffee, and thelaugh she attempted was not altogether a success. "This is all very well, " she said, "but two out of the three are rankdeserters--and if the papers tell the truth the third is as bad. Ibelieve I am doomed to be an old maid. " She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with theletters still in her hand. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holdingher skirts high above the dew-laden grass. Arrived in the plantationshe sat down with her back against a tree trunk. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and goldengorse. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last sixmonths, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. Andshe found herself able to do nothing of the sort. A new restlessnessseemed to have stolen in upon her. She started at the falling of aleaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. Her heart wasbeating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she wasconscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine wasscarcely responsible for. She struggled against it quite uselessly. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. The periodof repression was over. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. He will not come. He cannot. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy. She sprang to herfeet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. So he foundher when he came round the corner of the spinney. "Anna, " he cried eagerly. She held out her arms to him and smiled. * * * * * "And where, " he asked, "are my rivals?" "Deserters, " she answered, laughing. "It is you alone, Nigel, who havesaved me from being an old maid. Here are their letters. " He took them from her and read them. When he came to a certainsentence in Brendon's letter he stopped short and looked up at her. "So Brendon and I, " he said, "have been troubled with the same fears. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with--I mustconfess it--some misgiving. " "Please tell me why?" she asked. "Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. Youhave made your public, you are already a personage. And I want you formyself--for my wife. " She took his hand and smiled upon him. "Don't you understand, Nigel, " she said softly, "that it was preciselyfor this I have worked so hard. It is just the aim I have had in viewall the time. I wanted to have something to give up. I did notcare--no woman really cares--to play the beggar maid to your KingCophetua. " "Then you will really give it all up!" he exclaimed. She laughed. "When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused, " sheanswered. "They have all been trying to turn my head. I think thatnearly every manager in London has made me an offer. My reply to allof them has been the same. My engagement at the 'Garrick' terminatesSaturday week, and then I am free. " "You will make me horribly conceited, " he answered. "I think that Ishall be the most unpopular man in London. You are not playingto-night, are you?" "Not to-night, " she answered. "I am giving my understudy a chance. Iam going up to dine with my sister. " "Annabel is a prophetess, " he declared. "I too am asked. " "It is a conspiracy, " she exclaimed. "Come, we must go home and havesome luncheon. My little maidservant will think that I am lost. " They clambered down the hill together. The air was sweet with theperfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue skywas cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scentedwest wind. Ennison paused by the little gate. "I think, " he said, "that you have found the real home of thelotus-eaters. Here one might live the life of golden days. " She shook her head gently. "Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff, " she answered. "These are the playgrounds of life. The great heart of the world beatsonly where men and women are gathered together. You have your workbefore you, and I----" He kissed her on the lips. "I believe, " he said, "that you mean me to be Prime Minister. " TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Typesetting and editing of the original book from which this e-texthas been transcribed was inconsistent. In addition to minor changes inpunctuation, the theater in London in which the main character was asinger was referred to as the 'Unusual' and as the 'Universal'; thishas been changed to refer to the theater consistently as the'Unusual'. Additionally, Russell Square, the area in London where themain character resided was referred to twice as Russell Street; thishas been changed to be consistent throughout this etext. Otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words andintent.