“A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. He nodded silently, too full for words. “Very sexy. He dressed mechanically; so many moves this way, so many moves that. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. ” “Again,” he said, “I am going to be impertinent. She became as The Tigress, a free thing. It is no crime, none at all. “Maybe someday I can look them up again, just to see how they are doing. “Soul to soul.
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