“Well,” she admitted. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. I thought it would be magnificent to have a great house in Paris, and more money than any other woman. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’ ‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward. But to live at peace with your neighbour…. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. ’ ‘What about this Leonardo fellow?’ Hilary asked, still frowning heavily. Love and companionship. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Capes was inclined to support Miss Klegg until Miss Garvice cornered him by quoting him against himself, and citing a recent paper in the Nineteenth Century, in which, following Atkinson, he had made a vigorous and damaging attack on Lester Ward’s case for the primitive matriarchate and the predominant importance of the female throughout the animal kingdom.
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