Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. They were those of the Irish watchman. The wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to confront his assailants. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. You may have something to conceal, you may not. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill.
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