‘No, you don’t. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. ’ She drew a heavy breath. The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. . She stepped on to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. “I did not recognize him,” Anna answered.
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