She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. I die happy—quite happy in beholding you. go. Then her eyes flashed. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers.
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