Mr. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. "But I happen to be an honest man myself. ” “Touch you I mean?” She looked around. Wild's dwelling without apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction.
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