He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. “No!” he said aloud at last. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. “Anna!” she repeated. The young lady with whom I was dining last night was Miss Anna Pellissier. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. I don't believe his name is Taber.
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