Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. He has often told me that if he could play sober, he would go to America and reap a fortune. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. Then she moved towards the door.
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