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" At this juncture, two women, very smartly attired in silk hoods and cloaks, appeared at the door of the Lodge. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. “You do not know what such a relation means. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. “That’s all. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. ” Annabel pulled up her veil. Can’t face a scandal.
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