Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. "I know not—and care not," replied Jack. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another.
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