"You look more like your old self when you smile," he remarked. "But, forgive me, you are tired. Won't you come and have some tea with me? There is a new place in Bond Street," he hastened to say, "where everything is very well done, and they give us music, if that is any attraction to you." She hesitated and looked for a moment straight into his eyes. He certainly bore inspection. He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. "I will come--with pleasure," she said, "if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance--not to refer to--Paris--at all." "I promise," he answered heartily. "Allow me." He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. Anna, with her marvellous capacity for enjoyment, ate cakes and laughed, and forgot that she had had tea an hour or so ago at an A.B.C., or that she had a care in the world. "By-the-bye," he said, presently, "your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn't she? I saw the notice in the papers." Anna never flinched. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. After all, it was what she had been praying for--and Annabel could not have known her address. "My sister and I," she said slowly, "have seen very little of each other lately. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me." Ennison shrugged his shoulders. "Sort of man who can see no further than his nose," he remarked contemptuously. "Fearful old fogey! I can't imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. I thought perhaps you were staying with them, as you did not seem particularly anxious to recognize your old friends." Anna shook her head. "No, I am alone," she answered. "Then we must try and make London endurable for you," he remarked cheerfully. "What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?--and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?" Anna shook her head. "Thank you," she said coolly. "Those things are not for me just at present." He was obviously puzzled. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. "Come," he said, "you can't be meaning to bury yourself. There must be something we can do. What do you say to Brighton----" Anna looked at him quietly--and he never finished his sentence. "May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?" he inquired deferentially. "Perhaps your engagements are made for you." "I am staying," she answered coolly, "at a small boarding-house near Russell Square." He dropped his eye-glass with a clatter. "At a boarding-house?" he gasped. She nodded. "Yes. I am an independent sort of person," she continued, "and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. You don't happen to know of any one, I suppose, who wants a nursery governess, or a clerk--without shorthand--or a tryer-on, or a copyist, or----"