“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing.
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