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He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. "At length, I have my wish," continued Mrs. A town called Foster.
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