“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. Anna looked at her, startled. At least I can give you a glimmer. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. She led him up the long hall solemnly. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. "Something is sure to arise in the course of the investigation, of which I can take advantage. ” “But why?” “He’s married—and, I believe, living separated from his wife. I really must leave you now. .
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