And now Ann Veronica’s evenings were also becoming very busy. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. I think not. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck. Kneebone, Mrs. ” “You will let us hear from you—let us know where you are, very soon?” Annabel called out from the step.
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