” Miss Stanley turned to her. “Thank you. ” “I did not come,” she faltered. They were in different key, they had a different timbre. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. ” Anna tried to look angry, but her mouth betrayed her. ’ ‘Lord, man, it’s only a scratch!’ Suddenly Gerald snapped his fingers. “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself.
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