“I have made no arrangements as yet— none at all. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Light flooded the place. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. “Our ways happened to lie together. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man.
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