CHAPTER XXV.
"Confess," Anna exclaimed, as she leaned back in her chair, "that my idea was excellent! Your little restaurant was in its way perfection, but the heat--does one feel it anywhere, I wonder, as one does in London ?" "Here, at any rate, we have air," Norgate remarked appreciatively.
"We are far removed," she went on, "from the clamour of diners, that babel of voices, the smell of cooking, the meretricious music.

We look over the house-tops.

Soon, just behind that tall building there, you will see the yellow moon." They were taking their coffee in Anna's sitting-room, seated in easy-chairs drawn up to the wide-flung windows.

The topmost boughs of some tall elm trees rustled almost in their faces.

Away before them spread the phantasmagoria of a wilderness of London roofs, softened and melting into the dim blue obscurity of the falling twilight.