CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. “Yeah. Get the men back to their posts. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. John’s demeanor shifted. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother.
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