" "Impracticable dolt!" exclaimed Jonathan, furiously. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. Goodbye. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. “I must repeat,” Sir John said, “that I much regret disturbing you at such an unseemly hour. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. I am yours for the making over. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair.
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