Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. They did not have to wait long. Spurling, drily. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. The subject matter was generally worthless, but the handling was well done. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile.
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