The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. Her first intimations of marriage as a fact of extreme significance in a woman’s life had come with the marriage of Alice and the elopement of her second sister, Gwen. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. 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. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. “I must go. . ‘At least I couldn’t say for sure. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. And still you interest yourself in my affairs. Only I do not care to write about anything else.
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