“Hotel Ritz!” Chapter XXXI ANNA’S TEA PARTY “I suppose you haven’t the least idea who I am,” Lady Lescelles said, as she settled herself in Anna’s most comfortable chair. To the practised eye of the waterman matters wore a very different air. Hastening to the church, he entered it by the very door near which his first crime had been committed. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss.
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