“You are late,” she murmured. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. "Another such attempt," said the latter, "and you are a dead man. "I rather fancy, as you Britishers say, that you know the nature of my visit?" "I'm an American. ” “Excellent,” Sir John declared. Anna sprang lightly away across the street.
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