Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. She found next morning, when she came to this advertisement answering, that it was more difficult than she had supposed. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. “To-night we are as we have always been.
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