It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. “They have just taken this house from Lady Cellender. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. Rummage, my boy, do. Before he forced an entrance, Jack tried it, and, to his great surprise and delight, found it unfastened. 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. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles.
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