‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. Goopes said she believed in nothing else, and with that she glanced at Ann Veronica, rose a little abruptly, and directed Goopes and the shy young man in the handing of refreshments. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps.
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