Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. It was from Brendon. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. It is not possible for us to be on friendly terms with a young man who has been seen in a public place, having supper alone with your sister after midnight. ” Inwardly, she laughed at the idea of him trying to beat on her, flailing, his arms akimbo.
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