Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. ” “Be very sure that you do,” Anna said slowly. Was it ruined?’ ‘But yes, it was entirely ruined. It drives one mad at times. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion.
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