Her English was halting. “I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. But pathologically, he is still on the edge. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. CHAPTER XIV. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life.
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