Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. Sheppard. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. Then Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about.
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