She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. ” “I will tell her,” Anna promised. Tell her, that more than once, when about to commit some desperate offence, I have been restrained by her gentle image. Anna admitted the fact. ’ ‘Was. ’ Gerald laughed. .
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