Courtlaw took up his hat and coat at once, but Anna motioned him to
remain.
"Please stay," she said briefly. "Will you come in, Sir John. I
believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. This is my friend,
Mr. David Courtlaw--Sir John Ferringhall."
Sir John acknowledged the introduction without cordiality. He entered
the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him.
He noticed the two chairs close together. Anna was still holding her
cigarette between her fingers. Her likeness to her sister gave him at
first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a
wonderful sense of relief. For if the likeness between the sisters was
remarkable, the likeness between this girl and the poster which he had
come from studying was more remarkable still.
"I must repeat," Sir John said, "that I much regret disturbing you at
such an unseemly hour. My only excuse is that I missed my way here,
and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning."
"If your business with me is of any importance," Anna said calmly, "it
does not matter in the least about the hour. Have you brought me a
message from my sister? I understood, I believe, that she was seeing
you last night."
"Your sister," he answered, "did me the honour of dining with me last
night."
"Yes."
After all, it was not so easy. The girl's eyes never left his face.
She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand.
Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would
leave.
"I believe," he said slowly, "that I shall do best to throw myself
upon your consideration and tell you the truth. I have recently made
your sister's acquaintance, and in the course of conversation I
understood from her that her Christian name was Anna. Some friends who
saw us dining together persist in alluding to her as Miss Annabel
Pellissier. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to
ask you whether I misunderstood your sister."
"Is my sister's Christian name, then, of so much importance to you?"
she asked with a faint smile.
"The things involved in it are," he answered gravely.
She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. Courtlaw opened his lips,
but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. "Let me
hasten," she said, "to reassure you. My sister was scarcely likely to
make a mistake. She told you--the truth."
Courtlaw's walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with a
crash to the ground. He stooped to recover it, and his face was
hidden. Sir John felt and looked several years younger.
"I am much obliged to you," he said. "Really, I do not know why I
should have doubted it."
"Nor I," she remarked tersely.