You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. ’ ‘Oh, that tragic pair,’ uttered her ladyship in saddened tones. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. He can't be far off.
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