You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. " "A key!" exclaimed Wood eagerly. Don't lay it all to the boy. Earles said, rubbing his hands together, “by post.
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