I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. There was a third lady among the younger set. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. II.
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