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Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. ” “But why——” Sir John stopped short. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. laws alone swamp our small staff.
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