"My friends, Mr. " "Do not speak of it," rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins.
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