A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. He went to the door. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again. ” “No. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. ” She picked at her sandwich idly. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. Then Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about.
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