Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. "Tush!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, angrily. . ’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. “I say!” he said, without any movement. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. ” The conversation hung. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. The only departure which he made from the fashion of the period, was in respect to the peruke—an article he could never be induced to wear. Mr. “Dare!” she said.
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