It is necessary. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. They’re just all men, and no one is safe from scandal. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. "Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs.
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