You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. ’ ‘Then who is this Englishman?’ demanded Gerald on a sceptical note. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. . E. 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. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. She heard the shower running and looked at his floor. ‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent.
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