"Quilt Arnold, is that you?" "It is, Sir," sputtered the janizary. Anna nodded as she briskly crossed the pavement. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. Well, kill me. I'll think no more about her. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. The contest was now carried on between Rowland and Darrell. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights.
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