She would never forget the agony of that first meal in the great dining room. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. 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. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. “My name,” Anna replied calmly, “is certainly Pellissier, but I repeat that I do not know you. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled.
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