"It is droll," he said. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. I’m not Gerald, remember. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. But he was wide awake. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. Nobody could possibly find him now. Gerald frowned. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. ’ Gerald’s eyes never left the girl. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear.
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