A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. "Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. Maggot tenderly. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. "You depart for Lancashire to-morrow. ” “Yes. ” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia.
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