Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. She had a nut-brown skin, a swarthy upper lip, a merry black eye, a prominent bust, and a tun-like circumference of waist. ‘I do not know him.
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