Ah Coom. ” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. Immediately she had spoken of the loose button he knew that henceforth he must show no concern over the disposition of that coat. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. ” Anna stepped to the foot of the bed. The day had become suddenly overcast. But he did not follow on with the thought. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road.
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