She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. But I won't be cheated of my prize. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. I'm not sure I'd go out with him anyway. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. ‘Prudence? This name I have heard it spoken.
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