But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. The door opened. I heard John was talking about you again from Jenny McIntyre. ” Brendon rushed to the piano and strummed out a tune.
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