“It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. He is the one who has said that she must go to the convent. ” Her hand fell back into her lap. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. Annabel thought, and thought again. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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