"For the sake of the girl. It slid off flimsily. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. ’ She shrugged. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows.
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