Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. It is a precaution merely. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration.
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