Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. “Eight, Cavendish Square. She opened her eyes. You refuse me your confidence. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. “Let me introduce my friend to you,” Courtlaw said. Fortescue?” “At your service. “Of course it is, Anna. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. ‘Point it at me. I hope that you did not permit her to feed?” “But I did! I did!” She sobbed.
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