Anna, do you not see that the Countess is sitting alone?” She rose, and flashed a quick smile upon Ennison behind her husband’s back. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. He was inclined to be a good-natured person, and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub. " The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. I've no doubt he's as honest as either of you.
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