“That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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