"And if you are a millionaire like Drummond," someone remarked, "you
send round a note and ask her to come out to supper."
"In the present case," Drummond remarked, glancing across the room,
"Cheveney wouldn't permit it."
Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to
read. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth.
"Cheveney wouldn't have anything to say about it, as it happens," he
remarked, a little grimly. "Ungracious little beast, I call her. I
don't mind telling you chaps that except on the stage I haven't set
eyes on her this side of the water. I've called half a dozen times at
her flat, and she won't see me. Rank ingratitude, I call it."
There was a shout of laughter. Drummond patted him on the shoulder.
"Never mind, old chap," he declared. "Let's hope your successor is
worthy of you."
"You fellows," Ennison said quietly, "are getting a little wild. I
have known Miss Pellissier as long as any of you perhaps, and I have
seen something of her since her arrival in London. I consider her a
very charming young woman--and I won't hear a word about Paris, for
there are things I don't understand about that, but I will stake my
word upon it that to-day Miss Pellissier is entitled not only to our
admiration, but to our respect. I firmly believe that she is as
straight as a die."
Ennison's voice shook a little. They were his friends, and they
recognized his unusual earnestness. Drummond, who had been about to
speak, refrained. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders.
"I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any
rate," someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. "You see,
her sister is married to Ferringhall, isn't she? and she herself must
be drawing no end of a good screw here. I always say that it's poverty
before everything that makes a girl skip the line."
Ennison escaped. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool
of himself. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms.
On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and
paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. It was
nearly one o'clock; but there were lights still in all her windows.
Suddenly the door of the flat opened and closed. A man came out, and
walking recklessly, almost cannoned into Ennison. He mumbled an
apology and then stopped short.
"It's Ennison, isn't it?" he exclaimed. "What the devil are you doing
star-gazing here?"
Ennison looked at him in surprise.
"I might return the compliment, Courtlaw," he answered, "by asking why
the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man."