"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. Love and companionship. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. . ‘Can I not leave you for a day without you getting yourself into trouble?’ ‘Imbecile,’ she uttered faintly. I’m fine. ’ To be sure there was a way.
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