“I’ve heard some even more entertaining news from the Orchestra grapevine too. So he resolved to try another tack. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. Mrs. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hear from me. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. They thought that she was her own mother.
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