Honestly, I never did. If I were Mr. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window.
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