“Showtime!” Martin cried. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. She had told him, point blank, that since the Church had neither annulled the first marriage nor sanctified the second one, she was not his wife. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. Yet she held her tongue. Mr. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive.
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