” “In a minute, in a minute,” he answered, his eyes fixed upon Anna. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers.
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