But you—you have a good face. Brendon told him the name of a distant restaurant and sprang in by her side. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. Anna, quitting her chair, dropped on her knees by her sister’s side and took her hand. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. Please don’t let any one know that. Spurling, hastening to the rescue.
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