Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. Call her Miss Pellissier, eh? I tell you she’s my wife, and I’ve got the certificate in my pocket.
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