“The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. Even now I do not understand. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. ” “I promise,” he answered heartily. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me.
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