“There, there, now. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying.
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