Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. “My dear Anna,” he answered. He could not understand how men could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. The fire still burned brightly. Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, and opened the door for her retreat.
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