One only. You must—you shall be mine. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. A shy virgin bride would not press her thigh sinuously against his, nor consent indeed to this clandestine little comedy he had been playing. He pulled down a chair to her left. This helped to restore Ann Veronica’s self-command. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. “He naturally does not wish for connexions which are—I do not wish to hurt you feelings, Anna, but I must say it—not altogether desirable. More importantly, she had her wits. The chance had gone. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath.
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