I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. “Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. Yet I shall think of you to-day. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. The Iron Bar. “Why?” He inquired. “Read this, John. Bullding,” she declared. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. Believe me, Anna.
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