This is my friend, Mr. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. And tell Pottiswick to mend that lock we broke. “Hey you,” he said affectionately.
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