"Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. “I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. But I sent him the longest way about. Perhaps it was loneliness. “La belle ‘Alcide,’ wasn’t it? Annabel Pellissier was her real name. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner.
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