The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 25, 1904, Page 3

“You simply mock me, then” he eried. “It's a damned silly way to deal with a man. We know the truth, you as L Yet you keep the bluff when we are here alone. Is it Brendon is here? If so, by ow him down the stairs.” was standing now _ by He was taller than iIill, very powerfully built and himself with passion. od out on his forehead ds. He spoke in little matter over— “I was willing to talk the d f re about it. But I L face. I won't we- a fool or are vou my v not your wife,” “As to your had quite enough 1 have given you ak and you have Hill swayed upon to spring n, who was The maidser- gh about ry, to this ; “tleman,’ = dead silence. iis hat. He made ment toward the door. h The ¢ tion in ave gone A gativencss seemed man and his even to the in which he Anna. prepared for listened to any- You have s that the be- 1 he t even akine for the nan’s entrance. he said. “Of the X this lady But whether the slightest resence upon have trates after- When T . They € « behind him. b alf fearfully toward her chair up te ers were busy with afterncon!” “Do ring the You can stop, it ary has muffins.” , dropping into nonsense we have z to,” she continued, fold- n her knee, “well, here’s no more to be s e repeated. “The man CHAPTER XXIL Annabel 1 “Alcide.” i nghall d her eyes to and the greeting in € ant for him & S d to fan herself. a e m ured. said it into ) have an impromptu dinner part r t home a few wav- erer t to them where they had abruptly. of enter- she con- » em to have with the dullest and of Mrs. Montressor's d at the other jeople ance g just in_time” he reme of course that you were essors’, but I had r vas a music hall party e vou all here?” xes she answered. S £ t seem to be having an y B 0. Did you see Lord af s Anderson? They Colonel Anson and ho see: to be ab- in one another. and seventeen, who mno than he discovered to see a man in the isappeared.” once srated himself. ed then,” he said, “in & chair. 1 expect you had ng him terribly.” s presumptuous,” Anna- “and he wasn't nice wonder how it is,” she add- boys always make love so laughed softly. T d, “how you would g hLer fanning him. ered. “Mine is unstudied manner. It of the box. uncouth,” she mur- teurs.” 7 books and a lay figure” “to practice upon. Or Colonel Anson a few n's sake no,” she declared. put up with your own msy. Love-making enough. At second be unendurable.” towards her., challenge?” ed her shoulders, all ¥ It might amuse me.” Somewhat irrelevantly he glanced at the next few boxes where the rest of Mrs. Montressor's guests were. Is your husband here to-night?” he asked “My husban she laughed a little derisively. “No, he wouldn't come here of all places—just now. He dined and then pleaded a political engagement. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t.” ~ tats know,” he sald with some hesi- ‘that your sister is singing.” he nodded. “Of course. @oes it.” I want to hear how she magnificently,” he de- ik—we all think that she t him with curious eyes. ' she said, “that the v you, you spoke of my 1. Have you seen he answered. feathers of her ex- fan waved gently forward. She was m intently. )v7,” she said, “that every rarking how Il you look. I e it. What has been the mat- 'F 2ci. i he answered laconically. he lo. » ced away. . You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic 2 1 might,” he answered, “have gone further still. I might have told you the truth.” “Has my sister been unkind to you?” “The family,” he declared, “has not treated me with consideration She Jooked at him doubtfully. # “You promised faithfully to be there,” he szid slowly. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and —> She was really like her sister, he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilllancy of her smile. Her fingers rested upon his. “ You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. “I am 8o sorry. I had a perfect shoal of callers. People who would not go. I only ar- rived when everybody was coming away.” A little murmur of expectation, an audible silence announced the coming of “Alcide.” Then a burst of applause. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genjus seems able to create. Then she sang. Ennison listened and his eyes glowed. Lady Ferringhall listened and her cheeks grew pale. Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. She was fiercely and bit- terly jealous. Anna was singing as she used to sing. She was chic, dis- tinguished, unusual. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. Ennison lis- tened and he forgot where he was. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love- making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. The cultivated indiffer- ence which was part of the armor of his little world fell away from him. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. Neither of them joined in the ap- plause which followed upon her exit. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened be- tween them. Their conversation be- came stilted.. A spot of color, bright- er than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. “She is marvelously clever,” he sald. “She appears to be very popular here,” she remarked. “You too sing?” he asked. “I have given it up,” she answered. “One genius in the family is enough. Don’t you think so?” “I suppose,” he sald, thoughtfully, “you heard what happened here the other night?” “I read about it in the paper.” He fidgeted with his programme. “The man must have been mad,” he continued. “Declared he was her hus- band, you know, and wanted the mag- istrate to look at his marriage certifi- THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY 'CALL. % ——eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee————————————————————————————————————————— e ——————————————————————— “Do you mind,” Annabel said, “talk- ing about something else, or fetcl ing back my recalcitrant cavaller “Anything except that,” he mur- mured. “I was half hoping that I might be allowed to see you home.” “If you can tear yourself away from this delightful place in five minutes,” she answered. “I think I'can get rid of the others, “We will do it,” he declared. “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper. “Don’t imperil my reputation before I am established,” she answeréed, smil- ing. “Afterward it seems to me that there are no limits to what one may not do among one’s own set.” “I am frightened of Sir John,” he sald, “but I suggest that we risk it. “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laugh- ing, and drawing her opera-cloak to- gether. “You shall drive home with me in a hansom, if you will. That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Provi- dence to-night.” . . Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of ex- hilaration tempered by a dull back- ground of disappointment. Her sister ENYISON LOOKED SUDDENLY “Mr. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. hand frankly. She seemed honestly glad to see him. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gayly. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee ?”* He hesitated, and glanced toward her companion. He saw now that it was merely a boy. “This is Mr. Sydney ‘Courtlaw—MTr. Ennison,” she said. “You are coming in, argn’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. coffee is too good to refuse.” She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison. “Do vou know, I have been won- dering what had become of you,” she said. “I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note, but no address. I did not even know where to write and thank you.” “I have been abroad,” he said. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. I had to go at a mo- ment’s notice.” “I am glad that you have a reason- able ‘excuse for not having been to see me,” she said, good-humoredly. “Your TNTO MUZZLE OF - e had told him that it was true. Anna was married. After all, she was a consummate actress. Her recent atti- tude toward him was undoubtedly a pose. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite un- necessary. There was no longer-any risk In association with her. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement. He slackened his pace as he reached the flat. The windows were still darkened —perhaps she was not home yet. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. It was absurd to hope that he might see her to-night, yet it was pleasant to linger there, even though the night was sharp with an early frost, and to remember that at any moment he might see her. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backward and forward. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventure was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and pas- sion, seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an ad- venturer upon the threshold. Then a hansom drove up, and his heart gave a great leap. She stepped to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. A young man turned to pay the cab- man, Then she saw him. “Please make, yourselves comfortable while I see to the coffee.” It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its quaint col- oring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange and unexpected places. A great bowl of scarlet car- nations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of color from the somber curtains behind. Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. He leaned back in a low chair and watched her graceful moVe- ments, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful ma- chine. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed te lie far away, broken up dreams in some out- side world where the way was rough and the sky always gray. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remem- bered. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool air. Ennison stood by her side. They looked out over the city, She held out her_ grim and silent now, for it was long past. midnight. For a mo- ment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Parfs, before the com- ing of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. She had made her way since then a little farther into the heart of life. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the thresh- old of some change. The great untrod- den world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone., She felt a new warmth in her blood; a strange sense of elation crept over her. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. She glanced into her companion’s face and she saw there strange things. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. Sydney was strum- ming over a new song which stood upon the piano. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. Do you see the time?” “I may come and see you?’ Ennison asked. as his hand touched hers THE DIRPK REVOLVER ., “Yes,” she answered, looking away. “Some afternoon.” CHAPTER XXIIIL “This Is Not ‘the End.” “] sald some afternoon,” she re- marked, throwing open her warm coat and taking off her gloves, “but I cer- tainly did not mean to-day.” “I met you accidentally,” he remind- ed her. “Our ways happen to le to- gether.” “And our destinations also, it seems,” she added, smiling. “You asked me in to tea,” he pro- tested. “In self-defense T had to,” she an- swered. “It is a delightful day for walking, but a great deal too cold to be standing on the pavement.” “Of course,” he sald, reaching out his hand tentativelv for his hat, “I could g0 away even now. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly men- tioned.” “Then you had better ring the bell,” she declared, laughing. “The walk has given me an appetite, and I do not feel like waiting till 5 o’clock. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn, 1t is quite light yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun. ‘Would you mind drawing them back?” Ennison sprang up, but he never reached the curtains. They were sud- denly thrown aside and a man stepped out from his hiding place. A little ex- clamation of surprise escaped Ennison. Anna sprang to her feet with a startled cry. “You!” she exclaimed. ‘“What are you doing here? How dare you come t6 my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. The last few months had not dealt kindly with Mr. Mon- tague Hill. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewelry and the shinjest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. His cheeks were puffy and his eyes bloodshot. He had the appearance of a man who had known no rest for many nights. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an un- dernote of nervousness. “Why not?” he exclaimed. “I have the right to be here. I hid because there was no other way of seeing you. I did not reckon upon—him.” He pointed to Ennison, who in his turn looked across at Anna. “You wish me to stay?” he asked In a low tone. “I would not have you go for any- ing,” she answered. Hill said doggedly. am here to speak to you alone.” “If you do not leave the room at once,” Anna answered calmly, “I shall ring the bell for a policeman.” He raised his hand and they saw that he was holding a small revolver. “You need not be alarmed, he saild. “I do not wish to use this. 1 came here peaceably and I only ask for a few words with you. But I mean to have them. No, you don’t!” Ennison had moved stealthily a lit- tle nearer to him and looked suddenly into the dark muzzle of the revolver. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardlyswith you. Tkis lady is my wife and I have a right to be here. I have the right also to throw you out.” Ennison obeyed Anna’s gesture and was silent. “You can say what you have to say before Mr. Ennison, if at all,” Anna declared calmly. “In any case, I de- cline to see you alone.” “Very well,” the man answered. Bhave come to tell you this: You are my wife and I am determined to claim you. We were properly mar- ried and the certificate is at my law- yer's. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable per- son. I know that you were disap- pointed because I did not turn out to be a millionaire. Perhaps I deceived you about it. However, that's over and done with. I'll make any reason- able arrangement you like. I don’t want to stop your singing. You can ive just about how you like. But you belong to me—and I want you.” He paused for a moment a 3 then suddenly continued. His voice had broken. He spoke in quick, nervous sentences. “You did your best to kill me,” he sald. “You might have given me a chance, anyway. I'm not such a bad scrt. You know—I worship you. I have done so from the first moment I saw you. I can't rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. I want you. I've got to have you, and by God I will.” He took a quick step forward. Anna held out her hand and he paused. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features. “Listen,” she said. “I have heard these things from you before, and you have had my answer. Understand once and for all that that answer is final. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have sai I will not be uted in this way by you.” fou do not deny that you are my wife?” he askéd hoarsely. ‘“You can- not. Oh, you cannot.” “I have denied it,”” she answered. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours.” “Delusion!” he muttered, glaring at her. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. “In any case you will never re- celve any different sort of answer from me. Stay where you are, Mr. Ennlson.” With a swift movement she gained the bell and rang it. The man's hand flashed out, but immediately afterward an oath and a cry of pain broke from his lips. The pistol feil to the floor. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. “I shall send for a policeman,” Anna sald, “directly my maid answers the bell—unless you choose to go before.” The man made no attempt to recover the revolver. He walked unsteadily toward the door. “Very well,” he said, “T will go. But,” and he faced them both with a still ex- pressionless glance, “this is not the e . . . . . . Anna recovered her spirits with mar- velous facility. It was Ennison who for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued. “You are absurd,” she declared. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over—and my toasted scones are de- lclous. Do have another.” “It is over for now,” he answered, “but I cannot bear to think that you are subject to this sort of thing.” She shrugged her shoulders slightly. Bome of the delicate color which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy “It might become one, “The man is dangerous.” She looked thoughtfully into the fire. he answered. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. If so I shall have to leave.” “You cannot play at hide-and-seek with this creature all your life,” he answered. “Let yeur friends act for you. There must be ways of getting rid of him.” “I am afraid,” she murmured, “that it would be difficult. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent.” He drew a little nearer to her. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look Into her averted face. He toached her hand, soft and cool to the féingers—she turned at once to look at him. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight, firm mouth. Nevertheless she with- drew her hand. “Let me help you,” he begged. “In- deed, you could have no more faithful friend—you could find no one more anx- ious to serve you.” Her hand fell back into her lap. He touched it again, and this time it was not withdrawn. That is very nice of you,” she said. “But it is so difficult—" “Not at all,” he answered eagerly. “I wish you would come and see my lawyers. Of course, I know nothing of what really did happen In Paris—if even you ever saw him there. You need not tell me, but a lawyer is different. His client’s story is safe with him. He would advise you how to get rid of the fellow.” “I will think of it,” she promised. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. “It is intolerable that you should be followed about by such a creature. I am sure that he can be got rid of.” She turned and looked at him. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. “It may be more difficult than you think,” she said. “You see, you don't e ad know how much of truth there is In his story.” i “If it were all true,” he sald dogged- ly, “it may still be possible.” “I will think of it,” she repeated. “T cannot say more.” They talked for a while in somewhat dreamy fashion, Anna especially being more silent than usual. At last she glanced at a lttle clock in the corner of the room and sprang to her feet. “Heavens, look at the time!” she ex= claimed. “It is incredible. I shall bare- ly be in time for the theater. I must 80 and dress at once.” He too rose. “I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like,” he said, “but I am going to the Universal with you. Your mald would not be of the least protection.” “But your dinner!” she protested. “You will be so late.” seriously belleve,” he present moment I the fingers whether I care a snap have any She laughed. “Well, you certainl 1 very well at tea, e ren are going to wa fortable as ettes and m in the ¢ there.” Anna d@isappeared, but son did not trouble either th s or the magazines. He sa an easy chair with a I f his el- bows and loo into the fire. People spoke memories ries which and his hear there 8 time him. cannot ¢ it was chan piquant e fromy eting. Tt 1 in the ~ovenant." keep silence any] > me of} e met] bee ming} nd pointedl to it. voul he saw him. He w “I shall not spe any other ti They we a hansom. der slouc! ered at d and glows eyes st at th XXIV. Anna’s Surrender. 1 2 ni~ht,” he his glass, watching the « bubblesy ally only n that I met you in St ' She noddec and lection fr ils. 4 fore teatime,™§ had nothim since, and it seems a very long time.'} “An appetite like yours,” he said re< signe: is fatal to all sentiment.'” ot in the I t,” she ired himad nd the two ins He sighed. { “I have noticed,” he said, “that )m% seem to delight in taking a topsy+{ turvy view life. It s, 1 think® from an over <f humors You would h at evenl in Artemus W: § “You do not she declared. very dense. not in the le always understood that men avoid ke the plague a woman with a sense of humeor.” : So they talked on while supper was served, falling easily into the spirif of the place, and yet both of theml conscious of some new thing underly< AS ing the gayety of their tongues and manner. Anna, in her strange strik< ing way, was r antly beautifuld Without a single ornament about heg neck, or hair, w the plainest of black gowns, out of which her shouls ders shone gleaming white, she was the most noticeable and the most disting ooking woman imf the room. there seemed tal be a new y in her eyes, & deeper qua in her tone. She was$ herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. Perhaps, afe ter all, the othegs were right. Pers haps she had found this new thing in if! ng wonderful. The ter- 3 of tew the last to hav her, to have p. ed away dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. An acute sense of living w: her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Ennison too, always handsome and debonair seemed transy 1 out of his calm self. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen t He said daring things with a ce whick made them Irresistible, his -eyes her some eloquent f the change d him. flashed back upon but silent apprecia in her manner tov And then there c¢ them at least a temporary 3 It was he who down the room 1 derful white satin gown in front, ané Sir John stiff, unbending, disapprov« ing, bringing up the rear. He ben# over to Anna at once. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. “They are coming past o table.” Annabel saw Ennison first, and n ticing his single companion calmi ignored him. Then making a prete of stooping to rearrange her flowl train, she glanced at Anna, and hal stopped in her progress down th room. Sir John followed her ga: and also saw them. His face cloud: ed with ange It was after all a momentary aff: Annabel passed onm with a straines nod to her sister, and Sir John's bo was a miracle of icy displeasure. Th vanished through the doorway, Am and her escort exchanged glances. Ak most simultaneously they burst laughing. “How do you feel?” she asked. “Limp,” he answered. “As a mai of fact, I deserve to. I was enga to dine with your sister and her hi band, and I sent a wire.” “Jt was exceedingly wrong of you, Anna declared. “Before I came B England I was told that there we: two things which Englishman wi ever did. engagements “And the seconc ‘Make love to a single woman, «Your knowledge of our ways, murmured, “is profound. Yet, I pose that at the present moment am the most envied man in room.” Her eyes were lit with humor. bave spoken lightly on such &