“I told you I did not love you. ’ ‘Yes, but if it is only we that know, it is of no use at all to me. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. Very well, I give up. ” Anna shook hands with Brendon—a young man also, but older and more selfpossessed than Sydney Courtlaw. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. Not then. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. "You can't go to sea with a book of rules.
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