There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Ramage, speaking the simplest first thought of his heart. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone.
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