Were there a hundred such Annas I might press you all to my heart--but, one!--no--no--'twould be misery--'twould be perdition! The very excess of such a passion would render me a heartless miser, unworthy of the confidence of my fellow-men!" The radiant and yet serene eyes of Anna seemed to read my soul; and when I had done speaking she arose, stole timidly to my side of the table, as woman approaches when she feels most, placed her velvet-like hand on my burning forehead, pressed its throbbing pulses gently to her heart, burst into tears, and fled.
We dined alone, nor did we meet again until the dinner hour.

The manner of Anna was soothing, gentle, even affectionate; but she carefully avoided the subject of the morning.

As for myself, I was constantly brooding over the danger of concentrating interests, and of the excellence of the social-stake system.

"Your spirits will be better, Jack, in a day or two," said Anna, when we had taken wine after the soup.

"Country air and old friends will restore your freshness and color." "If there were a thousand Annas I could be happy as man was never happy before! But I must not, dare not, lessen my hold on society." "All of which proves my insufficiency to render you happy.