“Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. And yet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him with outstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in her wonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of her determination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could say to her. “You’re very nice, both of you,” she said gently. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. He kissed her at the door. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. I doubt I hold any interest for him anymore. “My charm of manner, I suppose.
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