"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 as I 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 to think of your offer. It was impulsive and natural. Now let us forget it."

"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 of the reasons why I left Paris and came to London was because there was a man there who wanted me to marry him. I really cared for him a little, but I am absolutely determined not to marry for some time at any rate. I do not want to get only a second-hand flavour of life. One can learn and understand only by personal experience, by actual contact with the realities of life. I did not want anything made smooth and easy for me. That is why I would not marry this man whom I did and whom I do care for a little. Later on--well then the time may come. 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 not forget."

Anna shrugged her shoulders lightly.

"Who can tell?" she said. "Your s.e.x is a terrible fraud. It is generally deficient in the qualities it prides itself upon most. Men do 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 ignored one request I have made you this morning. I have yet another. Let me lend you some money. Between comrades it is the most usual thing in the world, and I do not see how your s.e.x intervenes. Let me keep you from that man's clutches. Then we can look out together for such employment--as would be more suitable for you. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. You cannot refuse me this."

He looked at her anxiously, and she met his glance with a dazzling smile of grat.i.tude.

"Indeed," she said, "I would not. But it is no longer necessary. I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. 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 material person."

"I am convinced of it," she answered. "Let us go to that little place at the back of the Palace. I'm not half smart enough for the West End."

"Wherever you like!" he answered, a little absently.

They alighted at the restaurant, and stood for a moment in the pa.s.sage looking into the crowded room. Suddenly a half stifled exclamation broke from Anna's lips. Brendon felt his arm seized. In a moment they were 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 her side. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. There was no one else in the doorway. She leaned back in the corner of the cab with a little sigh of relief. A smile flickered upon her lips as she glanced towards Brendon, who was very serious indeed. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity.

"I am so sorry to have startled you," she said, "but I was startled myself. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never 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. I wonder----"

"London is a huge place," Brendon said. "Even if he lives here you may go 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 her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. She had paid 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 role she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best 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 got over his surprise at finding you established here."

She laughed.

"After all, why should he be surprised?" she remarked. "Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then--Paris is Paris. I think that a boarding-house is the very best place for a woman who wants to develop her sense of humour. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of a second-hand clothes shop."

Sydney looked at her doubtfully.

"Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean," he remarked. "He looks as though he did, at any rate. I don't! Please enlighten me."

She laughed gaily--and she had a way when she laughed of throwing back her head and showing her beautiful white teeth, so that mirth from her was a thing very much to be desired.

"Look round the table," she said. "Aren't we all just odds and ends of humanity--the left-overs, you know. There is something inconglomerate about 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 in the least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. You don't wear a dinner coat with a flower in your b.u.t.ton-hole, or last night's shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. Besides----"

She stopped short. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. He wore a black tail coat b.u.t.toned tightly over his chest, and a large diamond pin sparkled in a white satin tie which had seen better days. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. White, who held out her hand and beamed a welcome upon him.

"Now isn't this nice!" that lady exclaimed. "I'm sure we're all delighted to see you again, Mr. Hill. I do like to see old friends back here. If there's any one here whom you have not met I will make you acquainted with them after dinner. Will you take your old place by Miss Ellicot."

Miss Ellicot swept aside her skirts from the vacant chair and welcomed the newcomer with one of her most engaging smiles.

"We were afraid that you had deserted us for good, Mr. Hill," she said graciously. "I suppose Paris is very, very distracting. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us."