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. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day. There are way-stations—even terminals. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. ” Annabel’s hand stole into his. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. ’ ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully.
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