“That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. Anna saw it, and for the first time found herself trembling. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. He could not permit her to remain in that position. In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner.
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