I want to hear how she does it. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Annabel believed it, came to England and married Sir John. That for the men lay near the Lodge, with which it was connected by a dark passage. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered.
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