Smith, placing his hand on his breast. “That is very nice of you,” she said. But one must disguise oneself. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. No further responsibility whatever. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. I ——” He stopped short. ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. “And I’m not happy.
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