A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. The very blank, however, affected him more deeply than if it had been left. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. Men have seen to that. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality. ” “Oh, I might,” he answered, “have gone further still.
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