If only—Anna, tell me,” she broke off suddenly, “how did you get to know Mr. I’m starving. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. Silence! Then Anna clutched her companion’s arm. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. He was a Canton guide, highly educated, having been graduated from Yale University.
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