But the fall was too great, and he abandoned the attempt. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. How could he have betrayed her so cruelly? How could he lie and claim her as dead? Sebastian studied her carefully as she refused to cry and became like a pillar of stone. Annabel shook her head. He looked half at her and half at the sky. As soon as she noticed the stranger, she honoured him with an extremely impudent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise the admiration with which his good looks impressed her. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. If by any chance I have made a mistake a word will bring me to you. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner.
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