“I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. They alighted at the restaurant, and stood for a moment in the passage looking into the crowded room. “I was glad you did not send it back again,” he said. . He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened.
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