Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. “Of course!” he said. ) He hesitated. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. ” “And I may bring my luggage in and send that cabman away?” Anna asked. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. That's the way she strikes me.
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