Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. It was possible that his first impressions had not been correct. He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the Sunday. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. Annabel shook her head. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. ‘But a spy I am not.
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