A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. One could enter and leave by proa, but nothing with a keel could cross the coral gate. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. ‘You make a game with me, I think. ” “It is an accident,” he answered. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole.
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