She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. “I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it.
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