There was nothing to replace the all important letter from her father. “Four,” Anna decided firmly. “You remind me of the story which they tell against us over here, you know—of the Englishman who refused to be saved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. “I have given it up,” she answered.
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