“A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. Divide the money between you, and wear the ornaments for my sake. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. He will say who it was.
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