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She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny. ’ ‘No, I won’t. “May I hear?” “It really isn’t much to tell,” Drummond answered. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest.
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