He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. Sir John heard gossip about us—about Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias ‘Alcide’ a dancer at the cafés chantants, and concerning whom there were many stories which were false, and a few—which were true. There was a hint of tears in her voice.
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