“John, don’t!” she cried. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. ABOUT THE STORY Annabel Pellissier, for reasons of her own, allows Sir John Ferringhall to believe that she is her sister Anna. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles.
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