Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. Jack had well-nigh fallen too. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. ‘I’ll handle her better alone.
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