“You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest. Mrs. They've paid for their lodging. But Gosse began to drag her towards the door. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to.
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