"So far," she continued, eyeing hungrily the last morsel of roll which lay upon her plate, "my only chance of occupation has lain with a photographer who engaged me on the spot and insulted me in half an hour. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories are still wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figure because business was so bad. I am no use for a clerk, because I do not understand shorthand. After all, I fancy that I shall have to apply for a situation as a nursery governess who understands French. Faugh!" She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. One she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive unmoved. But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth were clenched, and she carried herself unconsciously an inch or so higher. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, _debonnair_, good-looking. Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. His manner was deferential, even eager. Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. "How fortunate I am, Miss Pellissier! All day I have been hoping that I might run across you. You got my note?" "I certainly received a note," Anna admitted. "You were going to answer it?" "Certainly not!" she said deliberately. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. "What have I done, Miss Pellissier?" he pleaded. "We were good friends in Paris, weren't we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then--without a word to any one you disappeared. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. You seem altogether altered, too. Upon my word--you are Miss Pellissier, aren't you?" "I certainly am," she admitted. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. "Of course!" he said. "You have changed somehow--and you certainly are less friendly." She laughed. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. "Perhaps," she said, "it is the London climate. It depresses one, you know." He nodded.