"Leave me, Sir; I insist. Perhaps in the beginning the women made fools of themselves over him. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. I have no right to love you. ’ ‘To you,’ she said angrily. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving.
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