"This young fool is come to restore the article—whatever it may be—which Lady Trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined. He is coming here to tea. I see. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. That’s the difficulty. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. “Can Lucy and I go out for a walk?” Michelle interrupted the violin conversation petulantly. Silence! Then Anna clutched her companion’s arm. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book.
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