Anna raised her eyes, and caught the earnest gaze of an elderly gentleman with a double chin, a protuberant under lip, and a snuff-stained coat. "I was in Paris four years ago," Mr. Building announced solemnly. "It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never seemed dull." "It takes a great deal of bad weather to depress the true Parisian," Anna admitted. "A volatile temperament--yes, a volatile temperament," Mr. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. "It is a pity that as nations we are not more friendly." Anna nodded and turned again to Courtlaw. "I will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr. Bullding," she declared. "I believe that he would bore me. Tell me, what are these bananas and nuts for?" "Dessert." Anna laid down her serviette. "Let us escape," she said. "Couldn't we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me." Brendon laughed softly. "We can," he said, "and we will. But it is only fair to warn you that it isn't expected. Mrs. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp--a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. Strangers look in and long, and neighbours are moved to envy." Anna hesitated no longer. She almost sprang to her feet. Conscious of Mrs. White's surprise as she swung easily down the room, followed by the two young men, she smiled a careless explanation at her. "I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. White," she remarked. "You are not going out--this evening, I trust," that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. "Why not? They tell me that London is impossible till after ten, and I want my first impressions to be favourable." "There will be some coffee and music in the drawing-room in a few minutes," Mrs. White said. "Thanks, I'm not very fond of coffee," Anna answered, "and I hate music. Good night." Mrs. White gasped, and then stiffened. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Anna passed serenely out. _Chapter IX_ BRENDON'S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. Nevertheless, she was still fighting.