Chapter IX
BRENDON’S LUCK
Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. Nevertheless, she was still fighting.
“There is one thing I must concentrate on at the moment,” she told herself, “and that is how to pay my next week’s bill to Mrs. White. It ought not to be much. I have gone without dinner for three nights, and—come in.”
Sydney Courtlaw followed his timid knock. Anna raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie.
“Is this a concession to Mrs. White?” she asked, laughing. “How gratified she must have been! If only I had known I would have made an effort to get home in time for dinner.”
“Not exactly,” he answered nervously. “Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for three nights, and—Brendon and I—we were afraid that you might be unwell.”
“Never better in my life,” Anna declared briskly. “I had lunch very late to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner.”
She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. Sydney was watching her eagerly.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck.”