But I suppose as I’ll have to wait until you can hear me to tell you again. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. She was a swan among geese, trying to look plain and dowdy. “Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to the customs of any time. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him.
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