We’ll be somewhere on the floor above. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Light the lantern. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. . They went to the gate and stopped there, gabbed with their men, and didn’t even dismount. . With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. “The fellow is not such a blackguard, after all. This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. Kneebone will excuse you. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. .
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