Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. His attention was focused on Melusine’s transfixed stare and he forgot to say any of the things he had planned to say. ‘I know just what he was doing. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is.
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