Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. “Am I hurting you?” She asked. I must have been very wound up. He would certainly welcome McClintock's advent. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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