Before her was a great Gothic portal. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. Nothing, in short, was too extravagant to be related of it; and Jonathan, who delighted in investing himself and his residence with mystery, encouraged, and perhaps originated, these marvellous tales. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park.
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