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A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. As soon as she noticed the stranger, she honoured him with an extremely impudent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise the admiration with which his good looks impressed her. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. And I want him out of uniform. Sebastian knew a dozen languages and could speak them fluently, plus he had an aptitude for numbers that Gianfrancesco did not. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. The attempt was unsuccessful. ‘You’ll make shadows. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it.
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