As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows. She snatched about in her mind. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. \" Michelle laughed.
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