She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. Up to dinner yesterday I did not expect to come to Canton. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman.
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