“It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. ‘And how do you propose to get in?’ ‘Scullery window. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face.
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