"You were born for great things," he said huskily. "For great pa.s.sions, for great accomplishments. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others--a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart."

She laughed gaily.

"Dear friend," she said, "remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts."

He shook his head.

"You were never born," he declared, "to follow the well worn roads. I wonder," he added, after a moment's pause, "whether you ever realize how young you are."

"Young? I am twenty-four."

"Yet you are very young. Anna, why will you persist in this single-handed combat with life?"

"Don't!" she cried.

"But I must, I will," he answered fiercely. "Oh, I know you would stop me 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 stunt it. 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 to protect 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 an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. In your heart you know quite well that all that you have said is useless."

"Ay," he repeated, looking away from her. "Useless--worse than useless."

"You are foolish," she declared, with a note of irritability in her tone. "You would appear to be trying to destroy a comradeship which has been very, very pleasant. For you know that I have made up my mind to dig a little way into life single-handed. I, too, want to understand--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 may meet--who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make 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 mind seeing who it is."

Courtlaw crossed the room and threw open the door. He had come to Anna's rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow.

"I believe," he said stiffly, "that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier. I must apologize for disturbing you at such an unseemly hour, but I should be very much obliged if Miss Pellissier would allow me a few minutes' conversation. My name is Ferringhall--Sir John Ferringhall."

_Chapter V_

"ALCIDE"

Courtlaw took up his hat and coat at once, but Anna motioned him to remain.

"Please stay," she said briefly. "Will you come in, Sir John. I believe 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 entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him.

He noticed the two chairs close together. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. For if the likeness between the sisters was remarkable, the likeness between this girl and the poster which he had come from studying was more remarkable still.

"I must repeat," Sir John said, "that I much regret disturbing you at such 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, "it does not matter in the least about the hour. Have you brought me a message from my sister? I understood, I believe, that she was seeing you last night."

"Your sister," he answered, "did me the honour of dining with me last night."

"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 would leave.

"I believe," he said slowly, "that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. I have recently made your sister's acquaintance, and in the course of conversation I understood from her that her Christian name was Anna. Some friends who saw us dining together persist in alluding to her as Miss Annabel Pellissier. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask 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 me hasten," she said, "to rea.s.sure you. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. She told you--the truth."

Courtlaw's walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with a crash to the ground. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. Sir John felt and looked several years younger.

"I am much obliged to you," he said. "Really, I do not know why I should have doubted it."

"Nor I," she remarked tersely.

He looked at her with a certain curiosity. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. It was hard to a.s.sociate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of "Alcide."

"You, then," he said, "are 'Alcide.' That wonderful poster--is of you."

She lifted her eyebrows.

"I am sorry," she said, "if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. My friends consider it wonderfully faithful. Have you any more questions to ask me?"

Sir John, on his way down, had determined to hint to this young woman that, providing certain contingencies which he had in his mind should come to pa.s.s, he would be prepared to make her a handsome offer to change her name. He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech.

"None, I thank you," he answered. "I will not intrude upon you further."

"Wait," she said.

He turned back at once.

"I have answered all your questions," she said. "Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. You have thought it worth while to take some considerable pains to resolve for yourself my sister's ident.i.ty. 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 an altogether adequate explanation. I have only seen your sister for a very brief time, and I am a little past the age when a man does headstrong things. At the same time, I must say that I am most anxious to improve my acquaintance with her. I am a single man, and----"