“If it is a choice between the two,” she answered, “I must be Annabel Pellissier. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. About them quickly. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play.
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