” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. Panic leapt into his eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. I was certain of it. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while.
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