"Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. Annabel, I cannot believe it. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief. . ’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald.
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