N. Smith. There she was to sit and wait to be
joined by him. She had never contemplated having to carry out the latter
clause, however; and when she had loitered for a few seconds, the thought
rushed over her that here was a loop-hole through which to slip, if she
wanted a loop-hole.
One side of her did want it: the side she knew best and longest as
herself, Annesley Grayle, a timid girl brought up conventionally, and
taught that to rely on others older and wiser than she was the right way
for a well-born, sheltered woman to go through life. The other side, the
new, desperate side that Mrs. Ellsworth's "stuffiness" had developed, was
not looking for any means of escape; and this side had seized the upper
hand since the alarm of the burglars in the Strand.
Annesley marched into the restaurant with the air of a soldier facing his
first battle, and asked a waiter where was Mr. Smith's table.
The youth dashed off and produced a duke-like personage, his chief. A
list was consulted with care; and Annesley was respectfully informed that
no table had been engaged by a Mr. N. Smith for dinner that evening.
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