She remembered Taber's hat. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. No pistols, no daggers today?’ ‘Would you have me show a pistol with so many soldiers? I am not a fool. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing.
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