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. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. Earles that I was ‘Alcide,’” Anna remarked quietly. He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. CHAPTER XIX. ” “Is this a fair sample of the dinner?” Anna asked, who had the healthy appetite of a strong young woman. I wonder. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming.
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