Annabel laughed softly.
“How unkind!” she exclaimed. “Still, since it is better to tell you, Sir John is very much in earnest, but his respectability is something altogether too overpowering. Of course I knew all about him years ago, and he is exactly like everybody’s description of him. I am afraid, Anna, just a little afraid, that in Paris I and my friends here might seem a trifle advanced. Besides, he might hear things. That is why I called myself Anna.”
“You—you did what?” Anna exclaimed.
“Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart.”
Anna tried to look angry, but her mouth betrayed her. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort.”
Annabel shrugged her shoulders.
“Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. “I gave your name. I called myself Anna. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. Three little letters can’t make a bit of difference.”
“But it may matter very much indeed,” Anna declared. “Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived. Tell him the truth, Annabel.”
“The truth!”