As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. You are all the beauty in the world. His face was downcast. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. ” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. The discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her.
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