The young lady with whom I was dining last night was Miss Anna Pellissier. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them.
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