Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. The burden of decision had been transferred. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. At any rate she must see me. Oh, goodness! Bilking! Ann Veronica, you’re a bilker!” Pause.
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