She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. They were sharp and dripping with black blood. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded.
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