“Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. Her sister Alice seemed to have developed a religious sense away there in Yorkshire, and made appeals that had no meaning for Ann Veronica’s mind. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup.
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