” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. I shall barely be in time for the theatre. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. She had begun alone. Loved his memory still, for all he knew.
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