"And you yourself?"

Brendon laughed.

"Oh, we are also under the spell," he declared, "but I think that we are here mainly because it is cheap. It is really cheap, you know. To appreciate it you should try rooms."

"Is this a fair sample of the dinner?" Anna asked, who had the healthy appet.i.te 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 to listen to their conversation. Mrs. White caught her eye, and smiled benignly down the table.

"I hope that Mr. Courtlaw is looking after you, Miss Pellissier," she said.

"Admirably, thank you," Anna answered.

The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess's side. She had very frizzy hair indeed, very black eyebrows, a profusion of metallic adornments about her neck and waist, and an engaging smile.

"We are so interested to hear, Miss Pellissier," she said, "that you have been living in Paris. We shall expect you to tell us all what to wear."

Anna smiled very faintly, and shook her head.

"I have come from a very unfashionable quarter," she said, "and I do not 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 is absolutely meteoric. Miss Ellicot has spoken to you, the great Mr.

Bullding is going to. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. I am not sure, but I believe that he has just thought of something."

"May I be prepared?" Anna asked. "Which is Mr. Bullding?"

"Stout old gentleman four places down on the left. Look out, it's coming."

Anna raised her eyes, and caught the earnest gaze of an elderly gentleman with a double chin, a protuberant under lip, and a snuff-stained coat.

"I was in Paris four years ago," Mr. Building announced solemnly. "It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never 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. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. "It is a pity that as nations we are not more friendly."

Anna nodded and turned again to Courtlaw.

"I will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr. Bullding," she declared. "I believe that he would bore me. Tell me, what are these bananas and nuts for?"

"Dessert."

Anna laid down her serviette.

"Let us escape," she said. "Couldn't we three go out and have some coffee 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 that it isn't expected. Mrs. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings.

There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp--a sort of advertis.e.m.e.nt of the place, you know. Strangers look in and long, and neighbours are moved to envy."

Anna hesitated no longer. She almost sprang to her feet. Conscious of Mrs. White's surprise as she swung easily down the room, followed by the two young men, she smiled a careless explanation at her.

"I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. White," she remarked.

"You are not going out--this evening, I trust," that lady asked, a trifle dismayed.

Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows.

"Why not? They tell me that London is impossible till after ten, and I want my first impressions to be favourable."

"There will be some coffee and music in the drawing-room in a few minutes," Mrs. White said.

"Thanks, I'm not very fond of coffee," Anna answered, "and I hate music. 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 pa.s.sed serenely out.

_Chapter IX_

BRENDON'S LUCK

Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she 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 told herself, "and that is how to pay my next week's bill to Mrs. White. It ought 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 at the sight of him. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie.

"Is this a concession to Mrs. White?" she asked, laughing. "How gratified she must have been! If only I had known I would have made an effort 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 three nights, and--Brendon and I--we were afraid that you might be unwell."

"Never better in my life," Anna declared briskly. "I had lunch very late 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 a cheap cafe. Sydney was watching her eagerly.

"I'm glad you're all right," he said, "because we want you to do us a favour. Brendon's had an awful stroke of luck."