“Do not force me to take you seriously,” she continued. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. “I am going to ask for your forgiveness. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared.
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