And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. I don’t know that I understand altogether. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet.
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