She would have need
of all her courage before the evening was over. That he admitted. But he
comforted himself with the reflection, that, whatever happened, she had
brought it on herself. She had refused to marry him, while he was fully
determined that she should be his wife. In a way, he felt distinctly
resentful that her obstinacy had driven him into employing such methods
as he proposed to use to-night.
The door opened, and to the accompaniment of a respectful murmur of
"_Mademoiselle est arrivee_" from Achille, a woman's figure, shrouded in
furs and with a scarf twisted round her head, slipped past the Frenchman,
and stood poised just inside the threshold as though uncertain whether to
stay or go. Achille retired and closed the door noiselessly behind him,
thus deciding the matter.
"Ann!" cried Brett triumphantly. "I wondered--I half doubted whether you
would come, after all! Let me help you," he added quickly, as the woman
threw back the fur wrap she was wearing, and with a deft movement,
untwisted the scarf from her hair.
"It's not Ann," said a cool feminine voice, and with a swift turn of her
wrist the visitor drew the swathing scarf aside and revealed the small dark
head and pansy-purple eyes of the lady from the Priory.
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