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“I did not,” Anna answered. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. At second hand it would be unendurable. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. "It would be a thousand pities, wouldn't it, to put so promising a lad out of the way?" "Devil!" exclaimed the knight fiercely, "Give me the paper. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners.
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