“What did it matter?” she cried. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. He halted and put out a hand to stop Hilary. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. It was she—— Anna’s nerves were not easily shaken, but she found herself suddenly clutching at the table for support. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads.
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