So was I, in fact. At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder. Their conversation hung.
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