Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. ” “What!” he asked; “not a kiss?” She affected not to hear. Light flooded the place. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness.
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