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They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. There was more shouting. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. He whispered in her ear. After that night she made it a habit. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations.
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