Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. Get you gone. I do not blame you for the act. Her father was holding her waist, smiling. ‘Do you think I would do to him as he made a threat to do to me? No. The danger you put yourself in by remaining here astounds me. It had gone with the rest. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. Empty, silly, coarse brutes.
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