“ALCIDE”
Courtlaw took up his hat and coat at once, but Anna motioned him to remain.
“Please stay,” she said briefly. “Will you come in, Sir John. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. This is my friend, Mr. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall.”
Sir John acknowledged the introduction without cordiality. He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him. He noticed the two chairs close together. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. For if the likeness between the sisters was remarkable, the likeness between this girl and the poster which he had come from studying was more remarkable still.
“I must repeat,” Sir John said, “that I much regret disturbing you at such an unseemly hour. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning.”
“If your business with me is of any importance,” Anna said calmly, “it does not matter in the least about the hour. Have you brought me a message from my sister? I understood, I believe, that she was seeing you last night.”
“Your sister,” he answered, “did me the honour of dining with me last night.”
“Yes.”
After all, it was not so easy. The girl’s eyes never left his face. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave.
“I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. I have recently made your sister’s acquaintance, and in the course of conversation I understood from her that her Christian name was Anna. Some friends who saw us dining together persist in alluding to her as Miss Annabel Pellissier. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister.”