She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. . There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind and lifted from the ground. ” “And I,” Ennison said, holding her fingers tightly, and forcing her to look into his eyes, “I will tell you what I have wished for you when we meet six months from to-day. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. You never can tell. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. ‘What is it that you told him?’ ‘Nothing, miss, I swear.
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