’ ‘So Charvill did tell him,’ Gerald said, once more staring into the hole in the wall. That's part of the bargain. Sir John heard gossip about us—about Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias ‘Alcide’ a dancer at the cafés chantants, and concerning whom there were many stories which were false, and a few—which were true. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said.
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