Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A. ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. She would not forgive me. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor.
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