As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. She recalled him. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. ” He said admiringly. " Ruth repeated the word, not in the effect of a query, but ruminantly. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. Vorsack would just have to live with it. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. Anna sprang lightly away across the street.
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