Turning now, and running down the terrace. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Bête, she told herself fiercely. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Anna saw it, and for the first time found herself trembling. " "Norris!" gasped Lady Trafford, trembling violently.
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