"Tut, tut, Anna, I'm fit as a cello. Why, I walked twice round the palace this morning; besides, I'm not going to-morrow." Now that his departure had been decided on, and he had burnt his boats, he felt disposed to allow himself the luxury of delay. "It may be a month before I really go," he added.
Again Edward would have seen a look come into Anna's eyes--disappointment this time, unmistakable disappointment at his last words.
But the woman said nothing, and before Edward spoke again the chair had reached the doorway of the palace and footmen were assisting him to alight.
Anna accompanied him up the broad staircase, until he reached the corridor on which his apartment was situated, then she turned and made her way swiftly to her own room. Entering, she locked the door and crossed to the large wardrobe which took up one side of the apartment wall. From beneath some clothes in a drawer she lifted her leather jewel case, and carrying it over to the dressing-table lit the candles which stood on either side of the draped mirror. She selected a tiny key from the bunch at her waist and, opening the case, took out a box, a little cardboard box, which had once contained chocolates. The lid was broken here and there, and had been carefully pasted together with scraps of plaster paper. Anna removed the cover carefully and tenderly, and leant her head in her hands and gazed down at what lay therein.
A baby shoe of white kid, soiled and still showing the shape of tiny toes, a bunch of faded ribbon, a little armless doll with staring beady eyes; and, most pathetic of all, two or three of the original chocolates the box had held--hard and colourless.
The woman raised her head and looked at herself in the mirror. She had not been crying, for her eyes were quite dry, but into them had come a look of determination, of a set purpose in which tears had no place and tenderness no part. She looked again at the articles in the box.
"A little while--not long now," she murmured, "then, perhaps I may weep."
Silently she put away the baby relics back into the wardrobe drawer. Then from the reticule she took the letter she had been reading when Edward had come upon her in the grounds. She smoothed out the creases and held it to the light on the dressing-table. It was headed from the offices of _The Imparcial_, and read--