“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. “I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. Melusine ran to catch at his arm. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. The young man looked at her. Anna saw it, and for the first time found herself trembling. She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of consideration of the typical modern girl.
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