She did not have the power of men. Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. Mr. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess.
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