’ A derisive snort greeted this passage. “What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. They had not so far been of much personal interest to Gerald, but tonight was different. She spotted her opportunity. ’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. He had not had time to aim the pistol. .
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