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Somehow I haven’t connected the idea with you. ” “I sent a telegram, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. “Just remember, I have to make this up to you. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. I want you beyond measure or reckoning. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity.
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