” He stood looking at the preparations before them with an unusual preoccupation of manner, then roused himself to take her jacket, a little awkwardly, and hand it to the waiter who hung it in the corner of the room. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. “Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. Get the men back to their posts. ” They stared at each other through a pause, and both faces were flushed and obstinate. "Bess wouldn't bear a rival.
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