Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. Michelle’s eyes darted around, she refused to look straight at Lucy. A brisk talk sprang up between Capes and Mr. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. A maidservant held the front door open. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. “What are you doing?” he asked. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. In addition, the Fadden Dance business, all out of proportion, occupied the whole foreground of her thoughts and threw a color of rebellion over everything. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently.
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