Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. "But you said you weren't particular. One or the other. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. .
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