But—if you are a friend of Mr. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion. And then at the street corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast.
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