So Mrs. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. 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. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Then she went up-stairs again, dressed herself carefully for town, put on her most businesslike-looking hat, and with a wave of emotion she found it hard to control, walked down to catch the 3. They decided quite audibly, “She’s an Old Dear, anyhow. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life.
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