He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. “But you must forgive me, John. ” Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. "She has," rejoined Sheppard. Yet she held her tongue.
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