"Keep a sharp look out, Bess. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. She took up a book and threw it down again. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. You don't know what you have got; I do. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. We shall be equally matched.
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