One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. “It was only yesterday I had your letter, and you never mentioned coming over. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. She had not at first the power for concealment. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house.
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