” “A sort of history,” said Mr. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. She was discussing one of those modern advanced plays with a remarkable, with an extraordinary, confidence. But Jonathan was not to be deterred.
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