She passed inside and upstairs without a word. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed. When you send for me I shall come back. You're alone, too, child. A neat tale, giving little away. It must have cut him. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. ‘Never would he have gone to England.
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