‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. \" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. Gentlemen,—Mr. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. “But that’s quite different,” replied Anna. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. “Girls of sixteen do not need their own laundry hampers. It is my business to know most people. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said.
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