” “Would you mind telling me,” Anna asked, “how long I knew you in Paris?” He looked at her sideways. ” “You will have no objection to his remaining here?” he asked. He kissed her deeply and hungrily. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. She loved him. On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains. Beyond that everything was nebulous. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. “Is that plain?” she asked.
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