Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. “She must have character. As a rule their comings and goings were discussed with perfect confidence, but on this occasion they both felt that there was intent in her silence as to her destination. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. "Ah!" exclaimed Jack, starting to his feet. They had turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats where Anna lived. "I've known several cases where the ignominious doom I've mentioned has been foretold by such an accident as has just befallen you.
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