“The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. He smiled tenderly. The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. “It is nothing of any importance. She was never announced as ‘Alcide,’ but directly she walked on she simply became ‘Alcide’ to every one. Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. Meanwhile, she doesn’t realize she’s pregnant and he’s still after her, day after day. But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain.
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