You can trust me, Anna. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. He had not noticed the girl particularly when she offered the sandwiches; but in this moment he found her beautiful. "From Lady Trafford's, where I took the box. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. You’re dogmatic. “I’ll buy a new one. ‘They cannot be worse than mine in English, monsieur.
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