The mighty concourse became for a moment still. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. ‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns.
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