She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. But there was no sign from her. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. Mrs. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. I love some one else. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop. He whispered in her ear.
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