“Oh yes,” said Miss Klegg; “I thought every one knew. I was at work at it yesterday and the day before. " "Only three days," reiterated the widow, "three short short days,—and then all is over. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women.
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