They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. Only a book detective could dope this out. The flush deck was without wells. Sheppard. “Very likely,” he answered. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind.
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