"Concerning whom?" "Mrs. By-the-bye,” he added, in a suddenly altered tone, “I hope, I trust—that you have not entered into any arrangements with any one here?” “I—oh no!” Anna said, a little faintly. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. She threw him his car keys. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending.
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