What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. Easy enough to look as if one rides away. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. “But, how,” he said, sitting up astonished beyond measure, “not go on?” “I have been thinking while you have been talking. “I told you I did not love you. ” Annabel laughed hardly. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew.
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