” Annabel gave a little gasp. "You can, of course, identify this picture as Lady Trafford's property?" pursued Jonathan, with a meaning glance, as he handed it to the knight. En tout cas, we are not talking of that kiss, but of this one. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. She trembled; but she did not know why. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. I said I’d do anything. “Maternity,” she said, “has been our undoing. . . He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. ‘Always he is busy about my affairs.
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