"Then will you be out to the rest of the world?" he said.
She stilled the wild tumult of her heart with desperate resolution. "I think you must take your chance of that."
"I am not taking any chances," he said. "I will come at the fashionable hour if you prefer it. But—"
He left the sentence unfinished with a significance that was more imperious than a definite command.
Anne's fingers were trembling over the keys. Sudden uncertainty seized her. She forgot what she was playing, forgot all in the overwhelming desire to see his face. She muffled her confusion in a few soft chords and turned round.
He was gone.
CHAPTER II
THE KERNEL OF THE DIFFICULTY
"I want to know!" said Capper, with extreme deliberation.
He was the best-known surgeon in the United States, and he looked like nothing so much as a seedy Evangelical parson. Hair, face, beard, all bore the same distinguishing qualities, were long and thin and yellow. He sat coiled like a much-knotted piece of string, and he seemed to possess the power of moving any joint in his body independently of the rest. He cracked his fingers persistently when he talked after a fashion that would have been intolerable in anyone but Capper. His hands were always in some ungainly attitude, and yet they were wonderful hands, strong and sensitive, the colour of ivory. His eyes were small and green, sharp as the eyes of a lizard. They seemed to take in everything and divulge nothing.