That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Also she remembered very vividly the smell of orange blossom, and Alice, drooping and spiritless, mumbling responses, facing Doctor Ralph, while the Rev. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. But send me word. ” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle.
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