“It is positively no use, Anna,” she declared, appealingly. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. He was not particularly grateful for the present situation. 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. Take your pick, Mrs. There were shadows under his eyes. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter of credit. “What can you do?” she asked. It was a haunted place. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. It was decrepit and too large.
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