“Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. “Anyway, enough about that. Melusine felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. That was an admission all right. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. But for him——” Something in her sister’s tone startled Anna. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. Its importance had vanished with her abandonment of compromise.
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