But I'll not believe it of you. She had found two copies of the magazine and carefully cut out both photos. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. You are afraid of the warmth in your blood. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. I shouldn't talk like that. " "Who is he?" asked Thames impatiently. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it.
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