” She stopped, and then suggested: “I wonder—I should love—if it was anything I said. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken. Her eyes where glassy and shining. ’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. She could no longer wait. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna.
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