I should like to have had you forgive me. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. Annabel! Annabel!” His voice became a shriek. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. “It was fine and brave of you. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. Her head ached with a hollow pain.
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