Annabel thought, and thought again. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned. It was drafty and cold most of the time, but she found that she was not nearly as sensitive to the cold as long as he was 99 there to warm her up. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. “No thanks. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. ” “No,” she moaned, “not that. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion.
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