This isn’t the place. He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. I——” The door was thrown open. ” She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison. He bent over to Anna at once. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears.
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